Viva la Vida
by Fallen Leafs
Summary: Kyle and Stan. Kenny and Ike. Eric and Butters. Tweek and Craig. Seven average freshmen  and one normal 7th grader  who are ready to give up on life, love and happiness...Only to find it in one another. Personally, I blame Auntie Kylie. LONG LIVE LIFE
1. Chapter 1: Viva la Día

_Welcome to the Viva la Vida, Viva la Día experience. Please keep hands and feet in the ride at all times. All passengers who have had past issues with homosexuality, cross-dressing, implied masochism, child abuse, and underage, or has contracted Hater's Syndrome, should make their way to the exit located at the top left of the screen. The staff of Viva la Vida disclaims all rights to South Park, MacBeth, Janet Evanovich's work, and any other obscure references we haven't caught. Please enjoy the ride. ***Note: _**YES THIS STYLE**_  
_

**Viva la Vida: Viva la Día**

It all started with that goddamn ruler.

It was just an average, ordinary, everyday ninth grade Spanish class. Then Ms. Perdue just _had _to give Kyle a ruler.

It was old, wooden, and worn. The numbers were faded and unintelligible, and all the corners were worn smooth. It probably would have snapped by now if not for the sheer, still-sharp metal core that stuck out for ease in drawing straight lines.

Kenny, armed also with a ruler, slapped Kyle across the thigh, making him yelp and blush, fingers caressing the injured skin as he pouted at the bigger blond. Eric, as he was prone to do, melted and immediately started demanding Kenny apologize. Stan just sighed at his mentally-underprivileged friends, taking Kyle's brief upset as the perfect opportunity to actually touch the redhead, skimming his digits across his thigh in comfort and pressing his forehead into Kyle's shoulder.

Kyle would see nothing wrong with it, after all. They were a very physical group. They all had affectionate habits; Stan bumped his head against either their shoulder or the side of their head (depending on their height), Kenny feathered his fingers over his friends' lower backs and shoulders, Eric was a hugger when provoked, and Kyle kissed them on the shoulder, a habit he claims stems from too much time spent with Stan's mother.

It wasn't uncommon or even odd for cliques to do this at South Park High. Tweek and Craig practically cuddled, and Butters would molest anybody who'd stay still long enough for him to. Wendy and Bebe actually kissed each other on the lips every morning in greeting.

They were just... A very physically affectionate group of kids.

Stan figured if he kept the redhead busy, the other two couldn't flirt and charm him. It pissed him off, honestly; neither were good enough for Kyle.

Kyle smiled at him, absently beginning to tap his ruler against his thigh. Having already caught up with where they were supposed to be, the other three had nothing to do but watch him; Ms. Perdue tolerated no talking in class.

His his long curls, silky and graceful, fell around his shoulders and cascaded down his back. He had a bad habit of letting it dry tucked behind his ears, so the right side curved perfectly to cover up his eye but reveal most of his cheek. It annoyed Stan to no end, that hair in his face, obscuring a single emerald iris and cheekbone, splattered over with freckles, and he often pushed it out of the way. He decided not to, though, not just then. Kyle's eyes were distant, staring past them all to the floor a few feet from the teacher's desk, and he seemed dazed. Stan knew he'd startle if he touched him.

Not to long after the tapping of the ruler against his thigh began, it became harsher. The ruler was twisted to the side so that the metal dug into his skin at every turn, and smack down with an intensity that made Eric grimace. And soon it was violent, but the boys were frozen. The audible snap against his fragile skin echoed in the back of their heads and made them flinch, but they made no move to stop him.

But then blood began to show through the light-blue denim. Not a lot. He probably wasn't bleeding much. But he was bleeding in two, three places, and Kenny, for one, knew that a bleeding inner thigh was a hurting sonuvabitch. And he tapped (if you could call it that) on, unaffected.

Stan was first to react. He had a thing about blood; if it was his, he might make a comment on the color, but if it was somebody else's, he'd freak. If it was Kyle's, he would be vulnerable to a full-blown panic attack.

The raven snatched the blond's wrist in mid-air. Kyle jerked, fingers spazzing, dropping the ruler onto his bleeding thigh. He blinked, looking down at his the hidden injury and mumbled incoherently, "Dude... Umh... Blood?"

A moment later, blush rising to his pale cheeks, the redhead glanced between them anxiously. Kenny's shock, Eric's concern, Stan's anger and worry, it all made him feel bad.

He stood abruptly and hissed when the denim rubbed across his no-doubt raw skin. Blinking in shock and stumbling slightly, Kyle called to the elderly Spanish teacher, "I need... Blood sugar levels... Headache... Sick... Jesus Christ, look, I'm bleeding, let me leave." he insisted when the teacher didn't immediately buy his mixed-ailment story. She couldn't argue with the growing red stains, could she?

His eyes were dilated, his breathing unsteady, almost hyperventilating, and his fingers were trembling. Unintelligible sounds escaped his throat and Stan's eyes widened. He stood suddenly, calling out as grabbed the redhead's wrist, "Fuck, teach, he's having a panic attack!"

OoO

Walking into her office, the nurse blinked. It was a common sight, yes, but it still made her uneasy. The infamously and perpetually infirm redhead, who seemed to vary from incoherent to dazed to pained to passed out to ill in her presence, was talking himself through a basic panic-attack self-speech.

"I'm okay. I'm in the nurse's office at school. Stan in holding my hand, Kenny is here, too, touching my shoulders. I'm okay. Eric will kill anybody who comes too close, so I must be just fine. I am physically, mentally, and emotionally stable. I'm safe." and so on, in a muttered tone laced with hysteria. Surrounding the redhead were three boys who put people in here more than they were there themselves; Eric, the boy who didn't know his own strength; Stanley, the boy who was constantly beating kids up for picking on girls and Kyle; and Kenneth, who seemed to be the designated escort for anybody who gets injured in his grade. All three were glaring at her in a way that screamed, "Fix him!"

So she calmed him down, crooned a memorized lecture about an elevator in his ear, and gradually, he relaxed, slumping against the Stanley boy and falling into the desired trance-like state. She could feel the boys' eyes on her, perhaps noting the words so that they could repeat them if necessary.

"... Is he broken?" Kenny asked after a silent moment. Stan snorted. "No, he's just... Got an over-active imagination. He worked himself up to a panic attack. You've seen him do it before; remember the Algebra End of Course Exam in seventh grade? Or the ACT? Heck, _Ike's_ ACT? He does it in every-day situations, too. Thats why I try to take up his free time; so he doesn't have enough time to think for too long. Think day-dreams... But, like, nightmares. Day-mares."

Kenny nodded slowly. "So... His daydream went bad, and he forgot he just was thinkin'?" Eric snorted, but Stan nodded solemnly. "Exactly. Do you know how many times he's called me in the middle of the night, so I can talk him down from insane theories about... Intruders, monsters, ghosts. Demons in the dark, hiding under his bed... He's like a terrified little kid, but he can't really help it, either."

"So..." Eric trailed off. "So, the filthy Jew is Tweek without the coffee addiction, twitchiness, and gnome phobia?"

"Yeah. I think he fell asleep. I dunno what it is about those... Speeches, but they put him right to sleep." The nurse smiled.

"That's what they were written for; calming people. I think he's probably like this because of lack of sleep anyway. See these bruises under his eyes? Poor thing looks like a kicked kitten with insomnia." Peering closer, the shadows under his eyes, the ones they'd become so used to, were much darker than his every-day late-night reading shadows.

"Oh!" Kenny exclaimed, pointing to the small dried blood stains. "Could you check this for us? He cut hisself with the ruler, but we think it was a accident, ma'am."

"Sure. You guys scurry out of here, back to class. If he isn't where he usually is at the end of the day, come wake him up and take him home." the nurse made shooing gestures towards the door, and, reluctantly, the quartet minus one left.

Kyle, laid down on the psychologist-style therapy bed/chair, curled in on himself with a sigh. The nurse knelt, pushing him gently onto his back and clinically going about getting his pants out of the way, unbuttoning them and pushing them down to his knees, remembering at the last second to lock the door.

Pushing the soft material of his boxers out of the way, she grimaced, taking in the red-raw skin and shallow cuts. One in particular, along his inner thigh, was still slowly oozing crimson life-liquid. With a sigh, Nurse Penny attacked the wounds with a disinfecting cloth, armed with Neosporin and band-aids.

...

He was being shaken, and he moaned in discontent, eyes cracking open to settle on a blurry figure he'd recognize anywhere. "Stan... M'tired. Lemme sleep."

The raven laughed, and suddenly he was in the air. Kyle shrieked, clinging to his best friend and glaring at him. Stan was carrying him bridal-style, arms hooked under his shoulders and under his knees. He seemed to have no problem with the extra weight, more or less ignoring him, even when the redhead's hands curled into his shirt.

"God!" Kyle huffed exasperatedly. Stan glanced down at him with feigned disinterest. "Yes, my child?"

Kyle snorted. "You're going to hell for that."

Stan grinned, bouncing him slightly and making him shriek. "I know. Feeling better?"

"Yeah. Aren't I heavy, Stan?" he questioned, squirming, big green eyes focused on his best friend. The raven grinned easily, pressing the exit door open with his back and turning so they could fit through. He shook his head. "Honestly, Ky? No."

The redhead pouted, punching him half-heartedly in the chest. "Perhaps I should rephrase my question. Will you please put me down?"

Stan smirked, loving the blush that covered his cheeks as they finally made it to the school parking lot, where thirty or so kids were lounging around, waiting for bus 2. Leaning against the wall in their usual place, absently wondering where the other half of their group was, Stan smirked snidely, "Maybe I should rephrase my answer. I'm not putting you down, Sicky."

Kyle groaned at the much-hated nickname in distaste. 'Sicky' is what Stan's (unimaginative) nickname for Kyle when he was out of commission; sick, injured, infirm, ect. "I'm fine, really! I was just tired!" he insisted as Eric and Kenny walked up, side by side, with similar expressions of confusion on their faces.

"_Ga-ay_." Kenny accused, leaning against the wall that intersected with Stan's, ruffling the redhead's silky curls with a grin.

"Er-ic!" Kyle whined, tossing his head back to look at the brunette upside-down, "Stan won't put me down! Tell him to stop it!"

"Stop it." he deadpanned, making no real attempt to help. "You okay, Jew?"

"Yes! For god's sake, I'm fine!" he insisted. A beep sounded from the road. "Look! There's the bus! Let's go, put me down."

Reluctantly, Stan did as he was told, following his best friend and marveling that he enjoyed holding him so much when he was only trying to keep Ken and Cartman away. Right? Right.

...

"Love's bliss and Loveless. Go ahead, mutter. Notice me notice. Don't stutter; It's unbecoming."

Stan blinked, breaking from his staring to look down at the redhead. Hands stuffed in his pockets, head lowered; he's angry. At what?

"Come again?"

"Jeez, Stan, I wrote that poem a year ago and it's been taped to your wall for nine months. You'd think you'd have it memorized by now." he rolled his eyes. Stan grinned uncertainly.

"Maybe I don't remember it because I don't get it." Stan responded lowly, eyes reverting to their previous location. He remembered the poem, now. 'Stop Staring'.

"Basically, I'm telling you to stop being an ignorant ass." Stan blinked again, glancing at angry little Kyle.

"What'd I do?"

"They're _gay_, Stan, not street performers! Stop staring!"

_Oh_.

The couple glanced over at Kyle's outburst, and one of them glared at Stan. The other smiled, waved at them both, and grabbed her girlfriend's hand, whispering something in her ear and leading her away. Kyle shot a warning glance at the raven, taking off down the sidewalk. "You know how I feel about homophobia."

Stan winced. "The same way you feel about sexism, racism, and religion... ism."

"And how do I feel about those things?" Kyle prompted, falling back into step with his best friend and grasping the taller boy's sleeve. Stan sighed, reciting, "'Hatred based on anything other than what someone is doing at the moment is wasted hatred.' That's why you don't hate Cartman."

"Very good."

"Mr. Brofovski, will I be getting an A this semester?" he teased, poking Kyle in the side and making him gasp, giggling.

"Yes! Yes! Just stop it!"

At that moment, Kyle jumped, eyes widening slightly, and shoved his hand in his pocket, withdrawing a well-loved cellphone and looking over a text briefly. He snorted. Stan sent him a questioning look.

"Eric just asked me out."

"Again?"

"Yeah."

Kyle stared at the keyboard contemplatively. Stan groaned. "You aren't _considering_ it, are you?"

Kyle paused at the childishly-jealous, almost possessive edge to his voice. He pressed his lips against Stan's shoulder, a silent reminder that he wouldn't abandon him or something stupid like that and muttered somewhat defensively, "Maybe if he realizes that I'm too smart to prank and not going to put out, he'll forget about it."

Stan's lips twisted into a small smile. "Today feels weird, like everything is about to change."

Kyle immediately began to respond, telling Stan how silly such a thought was, but, after just a moment, he replied quietly, "I feel like... Secrets are being discovered, unusual actions are being taken, and... Like I really need to be kicking Kenny's ass."

Stan snorted in amusement. "Me too, actually. Who's watching Ike tonight?"

Kyle paused. "Uh... Said blond, of course!" He got out his phone and texted someone, preceding a moment later to call their perverse little friend.

OoO

_~smack, smack, smack~_

Butters twitched.

_~smack, smack, smack~_

His long, slender fingers tightened minutely on the pages of _MacBeth._

_~smack, smack, smack~_

He could _feel_ his sanity crumbling.

_~smack, smack, smack~_

His head snapped up, glaring, infuriated, at the large brunette sitting across from him.

_~smack, smack-_

"Jesus motherfucking Christ, Eric! Chew with your goddamn mouth closed!"

Eric stared at him, completely shocked. Butters _did __**not**_ cuss. _Ever_. The nervous blond crumpled in on himself, glancing around the silent library with a guilty expression and telling himself sternly, "Now, Leopold, that wasn't very nice at all. You're grounded, mister."

An ashamed blush spreading across his cheeks, Butters returned to_ MacBeth._

Guiltily, Eric stuck his wad of gum under the table, standing and kneeling beside the studying blond. Ghosting fingers across his arms and shoulders, Eric mumbled "S'okay, Butters. That's just fine. You aren't in trouble. Okay? Everyone gets mad."

Butters felt his eyes sting. "I'm not allowed to talk to you, Eric. I'm grounded."

With a long sigh, Eric stood. "You're grounded for an hour, how about that? I'll come back around then and walk you home, okay, Butters?"

After a moment of hesitation, Butters nodded. Eric pressed his lips to the motionless blond's forehead, watching a blush spread across his cheeks with a pleased smile. He walked out of the library, getting out a cellphone and sending a text to his favorite little redhead.

He grinned, stretching. The birds were singing, the sun was shining, and...

_'Fine, Eric. I'll humor you.'_

_Yes!_ He had a date tonight. Bitch-yes! A small scowl made it's way to his lips, however, when he realized Kyle still thought he was teasing.

Ah, well. That'd change.

OoO

Bored. Bored. Bored.

_I wonder if Karen is busy._

_Oh, yeah. Date._

_That Grayson kid seems nice. In the TAG program, training to be a marine... Every parent's dream for their precious princess._

_... My precious princess._

_Yeah, he's cool with me._

_... I wonder of Kevin is busy._

_Oh, yeah. Date._

_~Vanessa scares the shit out of me.~_

_But, hey... Kevin finally found a Dom._

_Good for him._

_How come _I _don't have a date?_

_Bitches be lovin' me._

_Booored._

Kenny startled as his phone went off, alerting him to an incoming call. _Sexting_ by Blood on the Dance Floor played loudly and the blond smirked, snatching up the ancient device and greeting, "Yo."

_"Sup, Kenny?"_

"Bored. You?"

_"I've got a... A date? A date with Eric. I'm not very happy about it, but, Uh... Y'know."_

Kenny sighed, feeling jealousy well in his chest. "You need a chaperone? Make sure little Ginger comes out cherry intact?"

_"N-no, Kenny. No. Actually... My parents are out for a business thing... And, I can't exactly leave Ike by himself..."_

Kenny grinned at the thought of the sweet little genius. "Don't get to talk to lil' Ikey much. Baby-sitter?"

_"Yeah. Fifty bucks for you to keep him company and put him down? I don't know where we're going, so I don't know when we'll get home..."_

Kenny grinned. "Sure thing. What time?"

_"Erm... I think it was... Six? So be here BEFORE six, Ken. Remember, he's ten. No sex, no booze, no boobs... Ten year old stuff."_

Kenny waved him off, despite the fact that Kyle couldn't see him. "You got it."

_"And he isn't some bar slut. Touch him and die."_

Kenny chuckled, leaning back and thinking that he could have a shower before it was time to go. "Like I'd hit a ten year old. Specially Ike. He'd probably cry and make me feel like an asshole. Hit my chest and call me a bad man..." Kenny trailed off, imagining such a thing with horrified grimace. Kyle scoffed. _"Dude, it kinda sounds like you're having a rape fantasy over there. Quit it."_

"Yeah, yeah..."

_"No, Stan, you don't need to kick his ass. Yes, I'm sure! Just... You know. He's got that infatuation with you... I caught him wearing the parka you left over here the other day. He really is adorable."_

Kenny tilted his head to the side. Messy black hair, big chocolate eyes, rumpled clothes on a tiny frame... "He's the kinda kid you wanna take care of."

_"Homework should be easy, he's in fifth grade... Don't let him have sugar after seven, in bed by nine... Make sure he brushes his teeth and hair, he may ask you for help... No leaving the house, emergency numbers on the fridge. If you're nice, he'll cook for you. Otherwise, he'll feed himself. Help yourself to anything in the house, you're like my brother... Stop it, Stan!"_

"Got it."

_"Okay, see you in a couple hours."_

"Six?"

_"Six. Stanley Marsh, stop that!"_  
OoO

"Stupid. Dammit, Leopold. Why are you so fucking stupid? How the fuck do you fail _gym_, Leopold? Huh? Are you _trying_ to piss me off?"

"N-no, dad. I just... I'm not athletic. I can't do push-ups or touch my toes... Like the oth-other boys can." Butters stammered, eyes trained on his fists, anxiously bumping together. Mr. Stotch practically snarled.

"You can't do anything right, Leopold."

Butters stopped flinching at those words a long time ago. "I'll try harder, dad."

That's when the man smiled. A sad, loving, but thoroughly disappointed smile. "I know you will. You're meant to be perfect."

"Yessir."

"So go study."

"Yessir." Butters started up the stairs, but his father drawled leisurely,

"You're grounded."

"Of course."

OoO

Kenny hadn't been expecting that.

Ike had opened the door, looked him in the eye with those soul-searching brown irises. That look was so past his age that Kenny was left frozen. Something passed between them in that heart-stopping moment before Ike cut it short with a bat of his long dark eyelashes. His head tilted to the side and he reached up on his tippy-toes to brush the pads of his fingers against the raw skin around his eye.

"Kenny." he greeted neutrally as he fell back on the balls of his feet. Kenny smiled hesitantly at him, suddenly feeling inferior. "Ike." he replied with an incline of his head. _'Ten year old stuff' my ass._

"Who punched you?" there was a passion, a will to wrong injustice in his eyes. Just like his older brother. Kenny smiled in full again, pushing past the little boy and shutting the door, muttering all the while, "My dad. Is it already showing?"

Ike nodded, grasping his hand and dragging the blond into the living room, where he was sat down and told firmly not to move. The Canadian took off, presumably to retrieve either Kyle or some sort of medicine. He wasn't sure what for, though; he hadn't noticed any cuts, but he had exactly looked, either. Kyle chose this moment to walk in, grimace in place, wearing semi-nice clothes. "Jeez, Ken. What happened to your eye?"

Kenny shrugged lazily, reclining comfortably. "Dad. M'I bleedin'?"

"A little. It's just a scratch." Kyle stepped closer, leaning over closely to examine the bruise. Kenny felt his stomach flutter and swallowed harshly.

"So, let me get this straight. You're gay for Stan while making out with Kenny five minutes before you leave on a date with Eric. Are you _sure_ you're straight?"

Kyle blushed, backing away from the injured blond and muttering spitefully, "I wasn't making out with him, I'm not gay for Stan, and I'm only going with Eric so he'll leave me alone about it."

Ike sighed with a fond smile tugging at his lips as the doorbell rang. "There's your date, and since dad isn't here, I'm seeing you off." Kyle whacked him across the back of the head, but the ten year old set the box he was holding down and remained firmly at his older brother's side.

"... And you better have my brother home by ten-thirty, young man." Kenny heard from the hall, and covered up a snort, even as jealousy rose in his chest. Ike should be saying that to _him_, dammit. Kyle was his.

Little did he know that not to long after that night, Kyle would be saying those same words to him.

OoO

Eric blinked bemusedly down at a stern looking little Ike. Slowly, his eyes trailed from the little Canadian (who was glaring disapprovingly) up to the beautiful redhead standing beside him. Ike was rambling almost incoherently (gesturing firmly between Kyle, himself, and the brunette) about things like boundaries, death threats, and rules, but Eric payed him little mind, deciding instead to focus on the ginger's smile.

"... And you better have my brother home by ten-thirty, young man." Ike finally finished. Eric rolled his eyes and his lips parted to flame the child's demands, only to catch the nearly imperceptible shake of the daywalker just in time to change it to a stiff, "Yes, sir." and an indulgent grin. Kyle nodded approvingly, allowing his eyes to close as he smile widely and bent down to kiss Ike on the temple. The Canadian stayed firm and stern for effect as Kyle shrugged on his coat and pressed past his baby brother into the crisp night air. "Have fun, Ky."

Kyle grimaced. "I'll try."

"But not too much fun!" the door shut and Kyle made a face. "My brother's a little perv. ... I blame Kenny."

Eric snickered beside him as they began their leisurely stroll towards town. "I would too. How are you, dirty Jew?"

Kyle rolled his eyes a little. "I'm just great. I was reading up on it the other day... Did you know that Jewish women in Concentration Camps were raped almost routinely and, if they got pregnant, their baby was almost always murdered in front of their eyes moments after birth?"

Eric made a face. "Gross. I would never defile myself with the fluids of a filthy Jew!"

Kyle paused, staring at his friend with a completely uncomprehending expression, jaw working to find an intelligible response. "You... But... Me... Why..? How..? If you want... The fuck is this?"

Eric smirked at the long-time inside joke. "The fuck is that?"

"The fuck are you?"

"The fuck are you doing?"

"Your mom."

Eric clapped slowly at that. "Good one, for such a monotonously minded daywalker."

Kyle puffed out his chest a little in mock pride, chuckling easily. "The fuck are we going?"

Eric glanced shyly at him, crossing his arms over his chest and murmured hesitantly, "My favorite author is friends with the librarian... She's doing a book signing as a favor."

Kyle grinned at him. "So you do know me. Who is she?"

Eric laughed slightly. "Jeez, she's brilliant. Her main series is about Stephanie Plum, a bounty hunter surviving on luck and the goodwill of Ranger and a cop named Morelli. The book signing we're going to is for the first book of her new series, Wicked Appetite. I haven't read it yet, but it contains one of my favorite reoccurring characters and my favorite minor character, Diesel and Carl. God, I love that weird little monkey."

Kyle laughed a little in surprise. "What's her genre?"

"The Plum series is, like, Crime/Comedy, and this one is a Supernatural Romantic Comedy."

Kyle shot the larger boy a confused look. "Didn't peg you for the romantic type." Eric smiled with tiniest of blushes. "I wasn't until Ms. Janet. But, jeez, she writes it so well I can't even decide between Cupcake and Babe." At Kyle absolutely ludicrous stare, he explained, "Ranger calls her babe, Morelli calls her cupcake. I think Diesel has a nickname for her, too, but I can't think if what it is right now. Anyway, this new book is about Diesel, Elizabeth Tucker, and the SALIGIA Stones."

Kyle frowned in concentration. "SALIGIA... Superbia, Acedia, Luxuria, Ira, Gula, Invidia, Avaritia. Right?"

Eric shook his head in exasperation. "No, you stupid Jew. Pride, Gluttony, Envy, Lust, Wrath, Greed, and Sleepy."

OoO

There were maybe twenty people crowded around a table, blocking it from their view. All of them held a copy of a hardback book with the words _Janet Evanovich __**Wicked Appetite**_ in in black, gothic font against a swirling red background.

Eric was practically bouncing in his excitement as he grabbed two copies of the book from a nearby stand, tossing one to Kyle as he neared the crowd. Kyle, book pressed against his chest, grasped the hem of the taller boy's jacket, following him as Eric carefully pressed through the crowd until he was right in front of an grinning older lady with curly brown hair that made Kyle smile.

She looked Eric up and down sharply, a broad smile breaking across her features. "Would this be my favorite fan, by any chance?"

Eric nodded and she stood, leaning across the table to wrap Eric in a friendly hug. "Eric! How are you? I actually sent you an email earlier today, asking if you'd be here. Did you respond? I haven't checked. Are you excited about the book?"

Eric returned the embrace with a content expression. "Of course I'd be here! We've been penpals for, like, seven months! I can't wait to read the book! What's Lizzy like? How do the Stones work? Is Diesel still abso-freaking-lutely epic?"

"I can't tell you that! You have to read it first." Her eyes fell on the little redhead, who was clinging to Eric's jacket and looking uncomfortable. Her eyes lit up in excitement and she exclaimed, "You're Kyle! Oh, you're so adorable!" she grabbed the microphone and announced in a bubbly tone, "Fifteen minute break, please and thank you!"

As a couple employees made their way over to shuffle away the crowd, Ms. Evanovich led the way to a couple worn out chairs in a quiet corner of the library, next to the science fiction section. She bodily sat Kyle down, still quietly cooing over him and making his cheeks burn bright red, and patted Eric on the hand as she took her own seat.

"Eric, you really weren't exaggerating. He's cuter than Mary Alice! Look at those curls!" Eric bowed his head, cheeks coloring. "We're on a date." he supplied the woman quietly with a satisfied smile.

Stammeringly trying to change the subject, Kyle, in his typical fashion, bowed a little and smiled casually as Ms. Evanovich congratulated Eric. "N-nice to meet you, Ms. Evanovich. My name is Kyle Broflovski..."

Ms. Evanovich waved him off. "I know, dearie. You're Jewish, your favorite color is navy blue, your best friend is Stan, you're baby brother, Ike, is ten, adopted, and Canadian... I know that you blush when you're angry and cry when you're embarrassed. I know you always stand up for whatever you feel needs your support, I know you write poetry, I know you're favorite class is Science..." Kyle stared to Eric with wide eyes, cheeks pink and lips parted in surprise.

"I pay attention, Kahl." he murmured.

OoO

"Hold still, you big baby." Ike scolded, dabbing at the squirming blond's cut with his alcohol-soaked cotton ball. "Do you want me to stop so it can get infected?"

Kenny pouted, hands steadying the raven leaning over him with a steady pressure on his hips. "Yes! It stings!"

"Well, suck it up, redneck." Ike scoffed, giving one last gentle stroke that made the blond flinch. Taking out a little green bottle, the raven dabbed a little bit of a clear gel on his index finger. Kenny blinked uncomprehendingly. "... Is that anal lube?"

Ike flushed bright red and Kenny chuckled, a smooth, charming noise that had Ike blushing harder. "No! You filthy pervert!" Ike denied furiously, hitting his shoulder lightly and smearing the gel across the cut. Kenny tilted his head to the side, perplexed.

"Then what the fu-what the freak is it?"

Ike sighed, smoothing a bright-pink band-aid across a scowling Kenny's cheek with a small smile. "Didn't your mama ever put Neosporin on your cuts?"

Kenny's head tilted curiously, eying the bottle thoughtfully. "Yes." he replied at length, "When I was real little." Ike wobbled and Kenny tightened his hold on Ike's hips with a smile as Ike confessed, "Mama used to, but around three years back, when Auntie Kylie died, she kinda... Drifted off. Now Kyle does this for me." Demonstratively, he pressed his lips atop the bandage. Kenny grinned. "Thank yah. Never did hear 'bout an Auntie Kylie."

Ike twisted to sit beside Kenny, tucked under his arm, and muttered as he closed the first aid kit, "Kyle's namesake, actually. To be honest, from what I can tell, they have a lot in common. Kyle inherited her looks and fragile health."

"How _is_ your bro?" Kenny asked, concerning leaking into his southern drawl. "He's skinnier'n me."

Ike's smile faded. Guilt prominent in his big brown eyes, he mumbled, "He's fine. Just not feeling too good."

Kenny, sensing a sensitive issue afoot, changed the subject. "Homework, Ike?"

Ike made a vague noise in the back of his throat. "It was to read a chapter of our English book and a lesson in our Science text, and I've already accomplished both."

Kenny groaned in exasperation. "What kinda ten year old uses 'accomplished' correctly in a sentence durin' casual convo?"

"What kind of fourteen year old says 'convo'?" Ike retorted with a roll of his chocolate orbs. Kenny smirked, hugging the raven to him with his free arm. "The normal kind."

Ike whined but curled to lay his head on the blond's lap, eyes fixating on the television, quietly announcing the news. Absently pushing his fingers through his smooth black locks, Kenny smiled. "You're a pretty cool kid, Ikey."

OoO

Kyle despises awkward silences. He shuffled his feet, staring at his doormat with a light blush on his cheeks and wringing his hands together, unwilling to meet Eric's steady gaze. Finally, still not looking at Eric, he tugged at the brunette's collar, making him bend down, and kisses him on the cheek. "Thanks." he murmured against Eric's skin, quickly withdrawing.

Blinking in shock, Eric stared at the door his redhead just bolted through, a light blush on his cheeks and a smile on his lips.

He already wanted to be near him again. Maybe he'd go crawl in Kyle's window tonight.  
OoO

"Hey." Kenny whispered to the redhead he could see watching the pair from the doorway to the living room. "Hey." Kyle whispered back, approaching them quietly to run his fingers through his slumbering baby brother's hair and giggled a little at the pink band aid adorning the blond's cheek.

"So damn cute." Kenny commented, staring contentedly down at the the child in his lap. Kyle nodded in agreement, leaning down as though to pick Ike up, only to be stopped by Kenny's quiet laughter. "Ginge, you couldn't pick this child up if you tried." Grinning at Kyle's sweet pout, he stood with the little Canadian in his arms, rocking him gently as he led the way up to Ike's room.

Kyle pulled back the sheets and Kenny set him down carefully, helping Kyle tuck him in and pressing his lips to Ike's head in a maternal fashion. Kyle tossed him a confused glance and copied him, stroking his baby brother's cheek lovingly for a moment before standing.

As Kenny watched, Kyle tensed, a weak whimper escaping his throat. Following the redhead's gaze, Kenny laid eyes on Mrs. Broflovski, who was fixated on her eldest son with an expression torn between loving and insane. Kenny thought she could see something shiny clutched in her hand.

"Get out of here, Kenny." Kyle whispered, pressing his lips to the blond's shoulder and walking over to his mother obediently.

"But-"

"Everything's fine, Kenneth. Leave."

Kenny winced, obediently pressing past the pair to make his way out of the house. _Kenneth_ means Kyle's serious.

But he couldn't help the shudder that rippled up his spine at the way Sheila's hand clasped over Kyle's thin shoulder.

OoO

_~Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap. Tap.~_

Butters' eyes slit open, and he sat up silently, glancing towards the window. Frightened blue eyes met his gaze and he stood, rubbing his eyes carefully and yawning. The glass was cool under his finger tips, and Butters braced himself for the icy breeze that washed over him and made him tremble as he pulled the window open, stepping aside to let a trembling Tweek clamber in with a soft _"Gah."_

His left cheek was marred by a darkening bruise that made Butters' throat close and his eyes sting as he pulled the boy close, arms wrapping around his waist as he swayed the jerky blond.

As his more violent shivers subsided and his cold skin warmed, Butters led him over to the bed and sat him down, whispering into his hair promises of an ice pack and a hot mug of coffee.

Butters was sure to be quiet as he padded through his house, glancing blearily at the clock on the living room wall to check the time. Ten-thirty. Not bad at all.

The young blond froze as he entered the kitchen, eyes on his father, who was pouring over a file with a mug of coffee dangling from his finger tips. Mr. Stotch's calculating blue eyes rose to meet his son's.

"Why're you up, Leopold? Are you okay?"

"Tweek." Butters responded quietly. "He had a panic attack and fell and freaked out, so he came here."

Mr. Stotch nodded slowly. "Friends take effort." he reminded his son for the millionth time as he riffled through the freezer for an ice pack, withdrawing the blue pouch after a brief search.

"I'm making an effort." Butters reminded his father soothingly as he wrapped the ice pack in a kitchen towel and poured his best friend a mug of coffee, expertly adding two spoonfuls of sugar and a dab of honey and stirring gently, watching the dark liquid swirl. Mr. Stotch's arm wrapped around his much smaller son's shoulders and murmured gruffly, "I only want what's best for you."

"Of course, dad. I know."

Back in his room, watching Tweek sip at his coffee and quietly _"Gah!"_ at every noise outside, a smile tugged at Butters' lips. Friends take effort. Butters had more friends than his father thought; he even had a group of four like Stan and Kyle and Kenny and Eric. He had Craig and Tweek and Eric, and Clyde and Token as well. Butters would do anything to keep his friends. Anything.

OoO

Eric was frozen.

No, this couldn't possibly be correct.

His mind was playing tricks on him.

Jesus Christ, no.

He stared for nearly an hour, watching Kyle's mother work him over so lovingly, that insane glint in her eye. And he sat there obediently, eyes darting again and again to the photos set on his dresser. A vast mixture of people together, smiling, laughing, talking. One in particular seemed to catch his attention, one of Ike wrapped in Kenny's arms, both asleep. These photos were accompanied by a frightening, sharp-looking butcher knife. Kyle stared on passively.

It seemed like he watched for hours. Finally, with a sigh, Kyle looked at the clock. He smiled at his mother, suggesting something in rapid Hebrew. She seemed distraught, but left, grabbing the butcher knife of the dresser as she went.

His eyes were totally blank for a second, then he looked at the window, obviously contemplating something, and froze. He blinked, shook his head, but the image remained. Eric. Eric Cartman. Watching. He_ knew._

He started hyperventilating. He stumbled over to the window and shoved it open, gasping, "Help. Jesus Christ, I can't breathe!" and collapsing into a sobbing mess.

OoO

"C-calm down. I've got you, Kahl, it's okay." Eric stammered, staring in shock at the boy-yes, definitely Kyle-sobbing into his chest, chanting something like a mantra. After a moment, Eric thought he could make it out.

"I won't tell anybody, Kahl. I swear." the brunette reassured him, panicking slightly himself. He was shaking, shoulders trembling, the hands gripping the brunette's shirt shaking dramatically.

His emerald eyes were deadly serious. "'specially Ike. Or dad. Or, Christ, Stan!"

"Okay. Especially Stan, Ike, and your father."

He calmed somewhat, and, after a moment, seemed to realize he was sitting on Eric's lap. He slid off awkwardly, scurrying to put distance between them. There were mascara tears streaming down his face, making him seem very... Broken. His hair, apparently having been straightened, reached done to his shoulder blades in elegant waves. He tugged at a lock of it anxiously, not meeting his best friend's eyes. "I get it if you don't... Don't wanna hang around me anymore. I'm... Sorry... I just... I have to."

He kept his eyes trained on his trembling, long-white-glove-clad hands, grasping and tugging mindlessly on the delicate material of the pastel blue dress's skirt. He flinched when a hand met his shoulder, and turned tear-brightened eyes and black-tracked cheeks to Eric, who enveloped him in a gentle hug. He was warm, and Kyle relaxed, safe in his hold.

"Kahl... Why?"

That was really all he wanted to know. Why was the proud redhead letting his mother dress him up in a beautiful gown and heels and make-up?

"Mama always wanted a girl..." Kyle mumbled, "And it was me or Ike. I guess I'm prettier. And Kylie sounds better than Ikey."

After a moment, the redhead broke from the embrace, standing and turning his back on Eric. "Could you unzip me?" he asked in a small voice. The dress fell all the way to his ankles, and when the wind blew, the brunette could see that he was walking normally, flawlessly in three inch heels. Obediently gripping the hidden zipper, Eric inquired quietly, "How long has this been going on?"

He unzipped it a few inches, exposing the obscenely smooth, pale, unblemished skin it hid, and paused to hear the other's hesitant answer.

"Two... Wow, three years the day after Stan's birthday, March Twenty-third. Right around the corner. Jeez." Kyle shook his head in amazement, and Eric slid the zipper down a little, pausing. "So, since you were eleven? Uh... What are you wearing beneath this? So I have ample warning?"

Kyle moaned in distress. "Yeah, since I was eleven. A thong and a triple-A bra. If you laugh at me I swear to God, Jehovah, Moses, Buddha and Chuck Norris, I'll murder you." he warned. Eric bit his lip, pushing back unwanted thoughts and a snort trying to escape. He tugged it down to his lower back, where the zipper-line stopped, revealing a white bra strap and an expanse of pale skin, marked only by rare freckles, the bump of his spine, and the indents on either side of his lower back that really skinny people have.

"Turn around." Kyle demanded shyly. Eric did as he was told, promising himself he would respect Kyle's ragged remains of dignity and privacy. After a minute or two of shuffling, Kyle called the okay and he turned back to the little redhead (dressed in his clothes from earlier that day), who was anxiously hanging up the dainty, simple blue dress in his closet... Behind a false wall. At Eric's questioning glance, Kyle shrugged, replacing the thin plaster before the brunette could examine the other dresses and girl's clothing there. The flat-cupped white bra was hanging limply from his fingers, but, to Eric's mild disappointment, the thong seemed to have already found another home.

With a sigh, Kyle threw the undergarment into the trash can. At Eric's questioning glance, he muttered, "It's too big around. I've been losing weight." and stepped into the bathroom. Hearing the sink switch on, Eric figured he was washing away the smeared make-up and sighed.

He wasn't all that sure he wasn't having some sugar-induced nightmare.

Kyle re-entered the room, hair pulled back into the ponytail, face damp and clean, clothes baggy and every-day, and Eric could almost convince himself it hadn't happened. Maybe, if not for the red rim around his eyes, and the mildly-traumatized look on his face.

Hesitantly, he asked, "Do you... You know, wanna talk about it?"

Kyle let out a shaky laugh, popping the knuckle of his ring finger between his lips and biting. "Honestly, Eric... I want you to leave, and not mention this... Ever. If I start talking, it's all gonna pour out, and shit's gonna hit the fan. So... Go, and convince yourself it was a dream. Go to sleep."

Yes. A dream. That was the only explanation. "Oh... Kay. Okay. Goodnight?"

"Goodnight, Eric."

The brunette stared at him uncertainly for a moment. Kyle sighed, smiling convincingly, like he did for his mother, "You have to go to sleep, now. It's time to wake up soon. This is just a bad dream, so... Go."

Eric obeyed.

_A/N: I'm ba-ack! This story was inspired by Kryptonite by Three Doors Down, Perfect by Simple Plan, The Joker by the Steve Miller Band, Face Down by the Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, but more than anything, Viva la Gloria by Green Day._

_Little girl, little girl, Why are you crying? Inside your restless soul, your heart is dying. Little one, little one, Your soul is purging. Of love and razor blades, Your blood is surging._

_Run away, From the river to the street, And find yourself with your face in the gutter. You're a stray for the salvation army. There is no place like home... When you got no place to go._

**REVIEW, I BEG OF YOU GOOD PEOPLE!**


	2. Chapter 2: Viva la Acta

_Welcome to the Viva la Vida, Viva la Acta experience. Please keep hands and feet in the ride at all times. All passengers who have had past issues with homosexuality, cross-dressing, implied masochism, child abuse, and underage, or has contracted Hater's Syndrome, should make their way to the exit located at the top left of the screen. The staff of Viva la Vida disclaims all rights to South Park, xkcd, Janet Evanovich's work, Romeo and Juliet, the Bronx Masquerade, and any other obscure references we haven't caught. However, the staff claims all rights to the unnamed poem. Please enjoy the ride. ***Note: _**YES THIS IS STYLE!**_  
_

**¡Viva la Vida!: ¡Viva la Acta!**

Kyle had to handle this very carefully. The bus stop; gotta act. His secrets were on the line, after all. Luckily, only Stan was there at the moment. He could relax for a moment before Eric arrives... Maybe scare Stan a little...

The redhead smirked deviously, tip-toeing up behind his super-best friend and waiting for an opening... _That's it... Come on..._

Kyle shrieked in surprise as large, firm hands clasped down around his waist and he was tugged back into a large, warm chest.

He stared up at Stan, who'd whipped around at the scream, in shock. The jock blinked back. Kyle tilted his head back to see a broad upside-down smile and a mop of unruly blond locks and groaned, snapping, "Kenneth _Christian_ McCormick, I swear to Moses, I am going to kick your scrawny ass!"

Kenny turned him around in his arms, bending forwards in a dramatic, dancer-style dip that caused Kyle to cling to his neck for fear of being dropped. "You wouldn't do that." Kenny teased, pecking him on the cheek as he pulled the blushing boy to his feet. "You'd miss it too much."

Kenny winked at Stan over Kyle's head and Stan scowled disapprovingly, tugging Kyle back into him in a friendly hug. "Good morning, Kyle." he muttered into his wild red curls, grinning smugly at Kenny's pout when Kyle actually returned the hug. "How was your date?"

Kyle squeaked as he was once again tugged back into someone much larger than him, getting rather tired off the 'Kyle is easy to drag' game (that honestly started two years ago). "Yeah, Kahl." Eric taunted. "How was your date with the sexy neo-Nazi?"

Kyle wrenched away, glaring at all three reprimandingly. "I am _not_ a ragdoll!"

Kenny smirked, complimenting smoothly. "Of course not, you're much prettier... Like a china doll."

Kyle blushed at him, looking a little ruffled, and pointedly answered Stan, "It was fine, thank you."

Kyle tensed a little as he prepared to greet Eric properly. He must do this perfectly...

He smiled widely at the larger boy, who was watching him calculatingly-looking for evidence, most likely. "I love the book, Eric." he gushed. "I have to know! How did Diesel already know Carl? I'm like, this close to the end; have you finished it? Does it say if Wulf, y'know, de-unmentionablized her?" Eric relaxed infinitely, apparently satisfied that he'd been having strange REM patterns, nothing more. He grinned back teasingly, flicking him on the nose, and taunted, "Not telling~!"Kyle groaned dramatically, trying in vain to shake the taller, more stable boy's shoulders. "I must know!"

"Silly, impatient little Jew..." Eric shook his head in mock exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose in faux-irritation. Kyle lifted his nose in the air snootily and commanded in a superior, authoritative tone, "Pseudo tell me what happens!"

At the other's blank expressions, Kyle shook his head, muttering about being the only **xkcd** fan in South Park.

All the while, Stan watched the evidence of Cartman's strengthened bond with his Kyle. He blinked a little in surprise at his wording, but when it replayed in his mind, he decided it sounded right.

His Kyle. Stan's Kyle.

_My Kyle._

OoO

He leaned against the flagpole like always. His hair, long and dark and fluttering in the frozen breeze, covered his face like always. He stared at his feet like always. His arms were crossed like always.

The blond paused, indulging in a full-body twitch as he contemplated his best friend. Craig seemed especially unhappy today, and Tweek vaguely wondered if he should be left alone.

Craig's head rose slowly to look at him, an eyebrow raised questioningly, even as his eyes darkened angrily at the sight of the ugly bruise that had bloomed across his cheek in the night. Just like always, his arms unfolded in a silent, subtle offering of a hug. Tweek, smiling gratefully as his hands shook, practically threw himself into his quiet counterpart's arms, clinging tightly around his waist and murmuring almost inaudibly, "I had that dream again."

Craig had a peculiar way of hugging people-hugging Tweek, that is. His arms snuck around his waist and crossed mid-forearm to press his palms flat across the opposite shoulder blade of his twitchy little friend. Tweek found it endearing.

"Let's skip P.E. in the counselor's office." Craig suggested into his shock of blond locks. Tweek nodded into his chest, and when Craig unwound his arms from his jerky form, he clung to the taller boy's jacket hem. Craig wrapped a friendly, heavy arm around the coffee addict's shoulders and asked quietly, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Tweek blinked up at him blankly and hissed in a heavy, dark tone of voice, "Esshiao amonia."

Craig pulled him closer, letting his stoic face display sorrow. "I know, Tweek. I know."

OoO

Craig, though he'd never admit it, considered the South Park High School counselor a saint. He always had time for the neurotic blond, even when Craig himself was desperately needed elsewhere. He always had a cup of coffee, a few wise words, and a cozy office corner to spare for the pair.

"Th-Th-thank you-Gah!-Mr. Fisher." Tweek stammered with a sweet smile as he accepted a steaming mug of coffee-two spoonfuls of sugar, a dab of honey-and took a calming sip, humming slightly at the taste.

Craig sat across from Tweek in the corner-the corner laden with spare blankets and donated pillows, and pulled a piece of yarn that linked into a full circle. The twitchy blond smiled sweetly-eyes closed, trusting-and Craig returned it hesitantly, wrapping a loop of string around his hand and taking one side of the string and circling the hands again. Tweek stared sadly at his shaking hands for a moment before taking a deep breath and participating in their version of the Cat's Cradle.

Craig didn't need to pay attention to get the shapes right anymore. Tweek's therapist showed them the game more than a year ago, and Craig knew the formations and patterns down to the tiniest of muscle-movements. The quiet teen liked these calm moments; the longer they played, the steadier Tweek's hands became, and when he spoke, it was clear and calm, without stutters or frightened noises. "I want to teach my child this one day." Tweek murmured slowly. Craig looked up from his friend's hands to his concentrated face, commenting lowly, "I didn't know you wanted kids."

"Not my own." Tweek informed him, giggling as they completed the Cat's Cradle formation again and moved on to other things, like the Candles and the Manger. "I want to adopt. It seems cruel to place more children in a world where so many are already unwanted... Grandmama says you develop closer bonds with the children who aren't yours, because you have to learn to love them instead of it being automatic. Plus, sex seems... Icky."

Craig chuckled a bit, doing his part to create the scorpion. "Icky?"

Tweek flushed a little, watching Mr. Fisher's shoulders shake in silent laughter. "I just don't see the appeal in putting any part of my body into a slimy, wet, hairy hole that smells bad and secretes, well, slime."

Craig snorted. "Well, when you put it that way..."

Tweek smiled, glancing at his nearly empty mug of coffee as the pair effortlessly formed the Coffee Cup. Craig shook his head, and questioned absently, "So, if you don't like the idea of sex with a woman, what about another man?"

Tweek froze, and Craig, not expecting the sudden halt in movement, felt the strings fall from his fingers. The little blond stared at the man like he'd gone absolutely nutty. "Craig, if I don't want to put my penis in a vagina-where it's supposed to go-why would I want to put it in somebody's ass, where it's _not_ supposed to go?"

Craig grinned sheepishly at him, feeling more relaxed than he had in a while as he rethreaded himself, forming the Cat's Cradle once more and continuing the pattern. "That wasn't exactly what I was thinking..." he hinted, smirking a little at Tweek's puzzled expression.

"Then what did you mean?"

Craig shrugged off-handedly, listening to the counselor try desperately to stifle his giggles and failing. "We-ell..." he drawled, watching Tweek out of the corner of his eye, "You could bottom. Then you could have sex and not go inside anything."

Tweek's hands jerked, breaking the smooth game, and Craig felt a little guilty as they began to shake again. "Gah!" Tweek exclaimed, cheeks bright red. "I, uh, why w-would you... Cr-_Craig_! Why... _This is too much pressure_!"

The blond went to stand, but Craig expertly tugged at a certain string stretching between Tweek's wrists, drawing them tightly together and pulling him back down. "No, it isn't." Craig reassured him with a tiny smile. "It's not too much pressure. I'm not asking you to make a major decision about your sexuality right here and right now, Tweek, I'm just suggesting alternatives."

Tweek calmed, relooping as he settled, trying to calm the jerky movements of his hands, reforming the Cat's Cradle. "What was the new one we were working on, Craig?"

"The Orphan Boy."

Tweek nodded to himself. "That's right."

Several minutes later, Mr. Fisher turned around in his seat and inquired quietly, "You guys going to sixth period or you staying here?"

Craig glanced at Tweek, who looked considerably more calm than usual. "English, Tweekers?"

The eccentric blond bit his lip, shrugging and agreeing quietly, "English."

OoO

"Alright, listen up!" Ms. Halton demanded of the nine uncomfortable looking boys in front of her. "Imma tell you what I've already said, 'cause I doubt some of you," pointed glance at Kenny, "Were listenin'. As you all know, thanks to Mr. Broflovski, sixth period had the highest average grade of all my classes." Kyle shrank down in his seat as eight non-discriminatory glares met the back of his head, "Therefore and thereby, sixth period has been chosen to host this year's Freshman Battle of the Sexes play. The girls will be going to Mr. Bridgette everyday for English and we'll be here. The girls are doing Romeo and Juliet, and we're doing Bronx Masquerade by Nikki Grimes."

Kyle perked up, remembering the novel from seventh grade with a bit of excitement. Stan groaned, remembering having to present a poem for the Seventh Grade Open Mike and little else. "Now, as some of you may know, there are nine of us and eighteen parts." her expression became apologetic. "There are eleven female parts and seven male parts. Some of you will be crossdressing."

Every person in the room grew tense in horror at the knowledge that refusal to participate could result very easily in a failing grade. "Kyle, I'm so sorry. You especially. I'm so sorry. I'd also like to apologize to Butters, Tweek, Pip, and Kenny. You will all have female parts."

Token, Eric, Stan and Craig grinned smugly at the other boys with a somewhat evil expression. "Instead of each of you getting two parts, I'm dividing them up by skill level in performance. Token, you will be our protagonist, Tyrone." She Started passing out thick scripts. "Each part is labeled."

Kyle flipped through the script in horror. Finally, his head snapped up and he snarled, "You gave me four female parts!" Stan nearly fell over in laughter, eyes watering. He had only one male part. Sucks to be Kyle.

"I'm sorry, Kyle, but you're the best in the class... And you'll be able to pull off girl best, I think. You got Judianne, Diondra, Janelle, and Lupe. Stan, you got Devon Hope. Pip, you got Sterling and Sheila. Craig, since you are a menace to my classroom, I decided to cut my horror short and give you Wesley. Eric, you got Steve. Tweek, you got Chankara, Raynard, and Gloria. Kenny, you got Raul and Tanisha. Leopold, I'm sorry... You got Porsha, Leslie, and Amy."

Kyle seemed to be the only one truly bothered by it. "B-but... I'm a manly man! A manly man who's manly manliness refuses to be emasculated by feminine roles!"

Stan was openly laughing, tears rolling down his face in his mirth. Eric was chuckling darkly and Kenny commented off-handedly, "Hey, when we're both girls, can we have hot lesbian make-outs?"

Tweek was "Gah!"ing and Butters seemed more or less unaffected. Craig tilted his head, looking Tweek up and down and smirking. Token just looked smug. It was pissing Kyle off, frankly, and he bitterly listed off, "Let's see. I'm a fashion freak with low self-esteem, a six-foot-tall painter who's father wants her to be a basketball player, a girl who wants to have a baby, and an overweight, unconfident girl in love with the basketball player."

Stan tossed an arm around his shoulders sympathetically and inquired with a steady grin, "Who am I?"

Kyle send him a sideways glance, cheeks heating up. "Yours was one of my favorite characters. He was trying to break stereotypes." Kyle looked to the ceiling in concentration and quoted slowly, "I woke up this morning, exhausted from hiding the me of me, so I stand here confiding; there's more to Devon than jump shot and rim. I'm more than tall and lengthy of limb. I dare you to peep behind these eyes, discover the poet in tough-guy disguise. Don't call me Jump-Shot; my name is Surprise."

Stan blinked down at his super-best friend. "Is... Is that my poem?"

"Sorta. The other one is called Black Boxes."

At that moment, Ms. Halton piped up again. "Alright, guys; we'll only be presenting the actual poetry, but you are all encouraged to read the entire script. It's a beautiful prose."

"Hey, Stan!" Kenny called, breaking down in giggles. "One of Kyle's characters _loooves_ you!" He pointed to a scene in the script with a silly grin.

Kyle twisted around in his seat to glare at the blond, simultaneously shoving his guffawing super best friend. "Shut the fuck up, Kenny. At least my character doesn't flirt with Token's."

Token and Kenny both looked deeply disturbed. Stan dabbed at the corner of his eyes as his mirth died down. "Really?" he asked the redhead, "Which one?"

Kyle rolled his eyes, looking over the script unhappily. "Janelle Battles. She's all like," (insert girlish eyelash-batting), "Oh, my! Mrs. Devon Hope! Janelle Hope!" Kyle sighed contentedly like a lovesick schoolgirl, drawing more laughter from Stan.

"Does Devon like her back?" Butters asked quietly, a smile stuck in place. Kyle shrugged. "It was never really resolved."

Stan gave him an odd look. Kyle merely blinked back.

OoO

Eric snorted, leaning back in his chair and glancing over at quiet little Butters, who was staring at bruised-up Tweek in worry. "Hey, Buttehs. You in love with Tweekehs or somethin'?" his stormy gray eyes blinked owlishly at him, uncomprehending. Eric counted down from three, waiting for his words to translate through Butters' foggy brain. His eyes brightened in understanding and he blushed, shaking his head with a quiet, "N-no, Eric. 'sides..." he leaned in real close to his larger friend and whispered conspiratorially, "I think Craig is in love with Tweek."

Thoughtfully tilting his head, Eric watched the pair. Tweek was sitting on Craig's table, reading the stoic teen's poem quietly. They were absently playing a lazy one-handed version of Cat's Cradle (they didn't seem to be making any shapes) and Craig was utterly concentrated on the blond's face. "Well..." Eric pondered aloud, "I definitely wouldn't play a pusseh game like Cat's Cradle unless I really liked the person." his gaze shifted to Kyle as he wondered if the Jew could play.

"Uh, I, um, I know how to play... C-Cat's Cradle... Eric." Butters stuttered with a light blush, knocking his knuckles together. Eric gave him a bored look. "That's nice, Buttehs." he redirected his attention to the now-upset blond. "Are you mad about having female roles?" he questioned absently. Butters shook his head.

"I'll just pretend I'm Marjorine..."

"Marjorine?"

"Nevermind it." _You've probably forgotten..._

OoO

"So, anyway, then I was all like, what did you just say to me? And he was all-"

"Do you hear that?" Butters interrupted Eric suddenly. He stopped walking and Eric halted too, staring at Butters in no small amount of shock and anger. The blond paid no mind to the larger teen, looking deep in concentration.

"Buttehs, you just inter-!" Eric's irritated reprimandation was once again interrupted by a loud, firm "Shhh!" from the blond. Eyes flashing at the arrogance of ignoring _**the**_ Eric Cartman while he is _speaking_, he tried to snatch Butters and slam him against the wall to remind him exactly who was in charge, only to miss when the shy blond obliviously veered off the sidewalk and into an alley.

Eric blinked after him bemusedly.

OoO

After school. Kenny's favorite time of the day. The sun was shining (sort of), the birds were singing (more like chirping obnoxiously), and the air was distinctly mountainous. It's gonna be a good day! Kenny'll go home, nab some food, half ass some homework, go to sle-

Muffled shouts. A pained cry. A low sob and hissed threats.

Kenny sighed. This wasn't his problem. He could walk right on, no issues, and nobody'd be any the wiser. Except, however much he might deny it, Kenny had a heroic streak he'd long ago labeled Mysterion and put in a cardboard box in the back of his head, only to fail in his apathy towards the suffering of others each and every time. Therefore, it didn't surprise him when, ten steps past the alley, a terrified whimper had him spinning in place, rushing to the rescue of whoever apparently required his assistance.

Kenny paused, letting his hatred for this particular bully wash over him. He relished in it. He could feel it come to full boil as he realized just what he was seeing; the little crying bundle shoved against the brick couldn't be more than nine or so. His head was twisted away from Kenny, his wrists were pinned above his head and his jeans were wrapped around his ankles.

Kenny snarled, flicking the blade of the Swiss he didn't remember pulling out of his pocket open. "Didn't realize you still took victims, Salamander. And so young."

Said man froze, pulling his lips away from the sobbing child's neck to twist around to glare at Kenny. "Don't be jealous, McCormick." he sneered, "There's plenty of the Donovan to go around."

Kenny paused, debating course of action. After a brief hesitation, he sauntered his way to the man, who looked stared at him in interest, letting the child's wrists fall to his sides. Kenny pulled him around slowly by the shoulder, sending a suggestive smirk up at the older hoodrat, reaching up to clasp his hands together on the back of his neck...

Only to pull him forcefully down to chest-level and simultaneously shove his knee into the man's gut.

"Moitai, bitch." Kenny snarled to the moaning boy on the alley floor, giving him a sharp kick to the side and a firm, "Get lost!"

As Salamander made a tactful retreat, Kenny turned his attention to the child, expression softening. He knelt, respectfully not looking at the child as he pulled his jeans up to his waist and hastily buttoned them up. Standing again, the blond pulled the child into a hug and crooned, "Let's head down to the police house, kid."

"K-Kenny?" the child whimpered, looking up at him finally. Kenny flinched as he recognized his sweet little genius, cold fury building in his chest. "C'mon, Ike." he whispered, tucking the kid under his arm as he turned back around towards the police station that would probably ignore the report altogether.

OoO

Butters' heart melted when he finally laid eyes on what he was seeking, curled up in a corner and meowing miserably. It was shivering violently in the South Parkian Spring winds, it's fluffy orange fur matted and it's eyes closed tightly. As Butters watched, it let out another pitiful wail and, unable to stand it any longer, the cat fanatic slid one hand under it's belly and the other into the scruff of it's neck, plucking it off the ground as it wailed in surprise. It quieted down quickly, though, when Butters opened his coat and tucked it inside so that only it's muzzle stuck out.

Within moments, the kitten was snuggled up to his chest, significantly warmer, and Butters was staring nervously at his feet and trying to stutter out to his best friend that he'd heard the kitten mewling.

Eric's jaw was working as he watched the little blond stammer incoherently, torn between amusement and anger at being interrupted. Finally, though, he caught sight of the little pink and orange nose sticking out of his jacket and thought he might have understood. "Is... Buttehs, is there a kitteh in your jacket?"

Butters nodded, sniffling and rubbing his eyes lightly.

Eric hit him lightly over the back of the head. "Don't interrupt me without an explanation." he demanded, eyes trained on the pleased smile of the teen's lips. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose lightly.

"... C'mon, let's go get it cleaned up."

OoO  
"So, Stan." Kyle murmured, catching his dozing friend's attention. "Tell me, is this disturbing enough?"

Stan raised his eyebrow, but accepted the laptop out of curiosity. It bothered him to no end that Kyle used OpenOffice, and that he ALWAYS used size twelve, Times New Roman, and he deviously switched it over to Courier New before reading.

"Going up like-"

Kyle smacked him on the calf, drawing laughter from his best friend. "You know I hate it when people read my work aloud!"

Stan patted him on the head soothingly, going back to reading-silently, this time.

_Going up like paper in flames, _  
_crashing down like the freezing rain. _  
_Nothing's ever gentle, never subtle;_  
_Absolute ecstasy, excruciating pain._

_Dive into my clear pool of promise, _  
_only to be hit by a lake of wet concrete _  
_that burns as it dries, locking you in place, _  
_and you realize you're still incomplete._

_Breathe in, breathe out. Perfect. _  
_Sob, tremble, cry sparkling tears. _  
_Look into my eyes, _  
_worn weary by the years._

_Walk the streets with pockets full of_  
_dreams and loose change. _  
_Smile as you step on the cracks;_  
_funny how life's so damn strange._

_Let your wing tear bloody from your back, _  
_and let your halo hover over you; _  
_Perfection, just out of reach. _  
_Relax, Let the pain lead you through._

_Scream. Louder, I can't hear you. _  
_Your agony is breath-taking. _  
_I reach out to make you mine; _  
_Cry, scream, love me, stop shaking! _

Stan reread it quietly, a small smile gracing his lips as he watched Kyle twitch anxiously and bite his nails, looking uncertain. "I like it." he murmured as he handed the laptop back to his little redhead, enjoying the pleased expression that spread over the poet's face. "What inspired you?"

Kyle ran his fingers almost lovingly across the keyboard. "Wendy's poetry style. I failed to imitate it, however. Hers sounds more like it's describing something... Mine sounds like I'm ranting." He scowled at the screen. "God, I hate Courier New. Remember how Ms. Hunter wanted us to _always_ use it? Jeez. I love my nice, neat, professional Times New Roman. And whatever the font is that Fanfiction and FictionPress use."

Stan shook his head in amusement, but refrained from verbalizing his less-than-positive opinion of Fanfiction for fear of bring beaten upon by a defensive redhead. "What'll you call it?"

"I dunno." At that moment, Kyle's phone rang and he snatched it off the floor beside him. "Sup, Kenny?"

Stan watched on in concern as Kyle's face darkened and he stood, tugging on his abandoned converse sans-socks and asked quickly, "God, Ken, is he alright?" as an afterthought, he added to his watchful best friend, "Get your shoes on."

Stan nodded quickly. Kyle snarled and stamped out the door, demanding, "Is he still crying?"

Stan tugged on his shoes and hurried after his best friend, who was full-out sprinting in the direction of downtown. The raven blinked. Jeez, the little guy was fast.

OoO

Shnookie, as Butters named her, was a very laid-back, zen kitten. She fussed very little as she was placed in a sink filled with an inch or two of warm water and soaked through, rubbed against their hands as she was shampooed down and rinsed, towel-dried and all around cared for. They found a collar around her neck and deduced that she belonged to the crazy old cat lady, who had named him Mr. Captain, apparently not realizing that it was a girl.

Butters, having led a protest with Kyle about her last summer and getting more than thirty of her forty cats taken away, immediately removed the collar and tossed it into the Cartmans' fireplace, after making Eric swear to say there had been no collar.

Once she was fluffy and warm and dry, Butters set the kitten on Eric's lap (making said boy look slightly uncomfortable as he stared at it, making no attempt to pet it) and, armed with a pair of safety scissors, attacked her fur, cutting out four matted sections of hair and several knots of size ranging from quarters to dimes.

She was regale looking, even with missing patches of fur. She was a long-haired, orange cat with white paws and stomach (not to mention an adorable white patch on her cheek) with a sleek body and facial design and intelligent blue eyes. When Butters was finished, he hardly recognized the beautiful cat that stared at him with an air of thankfulness and appraisal.

Butters couldn't help but feel judged.

Shnookie, much to Eric's displeasure, took a liking to the self-proclaimed (not really) neo-nazi, and repeatedly rubbed herself against his face and neck, drawing growled, angry German from the boy, something that sounded like it might have included the word _Katze_.

OoO

Kenny sat Ike down in the station lobby, giving him a firm stare that clearly commanded he stay still. Ike obeyed, watching the confident blond stride purposefully towards the front desk to grab a report and glare at the receptionist for no apparent reason. Ike blushed slightly, looking down at his hands as unhappily recalled the position his older brother's friend caught him in. He hid his face in his hands, thoroughly humiliated.

A clipboard bumped into his side and Ike glanced up at the hoodrat, who offered a sympathetic smile as he slid the form into the child's lap. Kenny was on the phone, and, after a moment, announced, "Ky, Ike was attacked. ...He's fine, just get over the police house."

Suddenly, Kenny grasped his chin and tilted his head up, examining his face and making him squirm and wipe self-consciously at his damp cheeks and eyelashes. Kenny shook his head. "Nah, he's mostly stopped cryin'."

Shame-faced, Ike accepted the pen extended to him and began to fill out forms, Kenny sitting and copying him.

"What's it called?" Ike asked after several silent moments. Kenny looked up slowly, confusion and concern written across his handsome face. "What's what called, kid?"

Ike rubbed his eyes tiredly, a little worn out from his crying. "What happened. What he did. Uh... The crime! What's the crime called?"

Kenny rose his eyes in thought. "Well... You've got... Assault. Sexual assault. Of a minor. Sexual assault of a minor. There you go." his grin widened as he tacked more onto his description of the crime, and Ike shook his head in amusement, noticing for the first time that there was still a neon-pink band-aid on the hoodrat's cheek. He absently wondered if Kenny had noticed as he stared at the last question. Did the victim sustain any physical injuries?

Kenny reached the question a moment later. He glanced up at the little raven casually, inquiring "You hurt, kid?"

Ike slowly pushed his sleeves back, revealing darkening bruises across his wrists. "I think that's it." he murmured, watching Kenny frown at the bruises with a tinge of possessiveness that made Ike hide a pleased smile.

Still a little disturbed by his encounter, Ike set the clipboard on the coffee table in front of them and curled in on himself, pulling his knees to his chest protectively. Kenny gathered both reports together but hesitated before he stood, shooting Ike an awkward glance. "Uh, Ike... I know he, y'know, undid your jeans an' all, but... Did 'e touch ya?"

Ike placed his head between his knees and took a couple deep breaths. "He, uh... H-he grabbed me, you know... Down _there_. ... I-it hurt." Kenny visibly flinched. Ike felt tears of humiliation prick his eyes and he wondered why he told beautiful, confident Kenny that he could even protect hi-

"Ike!" the door slammed open, making all three occupants of the room jump. Ike curled tighter in on himself. Kyle trotted over to his baby brother, kneeling in front of his seat with no hesitation and crooning breathlessly, "Ike, baby... Are you okay? Are you hurt? C'mere..."

Ike didn't need further prodding. He launched himself into his brother's arms, clinging tightly to his neck and crying into his chest. Kyle blinked back tears of his own, shifting back to sit Indian-style and clutching his baby brother to his chest and stroking his spine.

A few moments later, Stan burst through the door as well, panting and bending over at the waist. Upon seeing the brothers clutching each other on the floor, he hurried over to where Kenny was watching them with a heartbroken expression and whispered, "What the fuck happened, dude?"

Kenny put his head in his hands and whispered back, "I heard some noise in an alley so I took a lil' peek an' I see Salamander pinnin' some terrified little kid to the wall, so I kicked his filthy, perverse ass an' help the kid pull his pants back up-jeez, he was shakin' like a leaf!-an' I look up an' see Ike lookin' all shell-shocked an' frightened."

Stan stared at him in shock. "Did he..?"

Kenny bit his lip. "He was rough about it, too. Ike says it hurt."

They lapsed into silence and eventually Ike's frightened sobs desolved into sleepy sniffling as he tripped into never-never land. Nobody could really blame the kid; he'd had a helluva day.

Kyle stood wobbly, one arm supporting Ike's butt and the other pressing the unconscious form against his chest. At Kenny's shocked expression, Kyle murmured, "Big brother powers, dude. I'm motherfucking invincible."

Neither boy seemed inclined to take the bundle and Kyle was walking steadily now, stopping only to let Kenny turn in the reports. "Did Sala touch him?"

Stan and Kenny nodded wordlessly and Kyle cursed quietly but creatively. "I swear to Moses if this jogs his memory, there will be hell. To. Pay."

"Memory?"

Kyle stiffened. He glance sideways at the two concerned teens and shrugged it off, muttering, "He doesn't remember and I'm trying to forget."

OoO

Halfway to the Broflovski residence, with Kyle still going strong under his baby brother's weight, Stan's cell phone went off. Not taking his eyes off the object of his worry-a certain tiny genius he considered a brother-he answered with an absent-minded, "Kinda busy. Is it important?"

Stan froze and his companions wheeled around to watch him as the color drained from his face. "Did... Did you double-check?"

A moment of silence stretched. Stan's hands were trembling. "O-of course, Shell, I'll be there in just a minute... Sh, Shell, don't cry, it'll be fine. Yeah, I'll stay on." he shot an apologetic glance at his friends and took off in a steady, loping run.

Kenny and Kyle blinked after the jock for a moment.

"Did... Did he say Shelley?"

"... Yeah."

OoO

For the second time in two days, Kenny helped Kyle tuck little Ike into bed. Kyle crawled under the blankets with him and pulling him close, wrapping an arm around his underdeveloped torso. Kenny sat propped against the headboard and watched Kyle lovingly stroke the Canadian's smooth black locks. Kyle kept glancing up at his best friend in apprehension, sensing the inevitable awkward conversation.

"So, memories, eh?"

Kyle smiled a little sadly. "Memories."

Kenny rose an eyebrow at the redhead, taking a firmer approach. "Am I finally gonna hear why you used to come to me cryin' in the middle of the night?"

Kyle shook his head minutely with a semi-amused expression. "You'd just tell Stan."

Kenny considered lying but figured the brilliant redhead would see straight through it. "Yeah, probably."

Kyle smirked. "Stan'd freak on me, so I'm not telling you."

"Well..." Kenny mumbled, looking unsure. "At least promise you'll tell me if you need somebody to talk to." Kyle nodded affirmatively and Kenny stood to leave, feathering his fingers across the brothers' hidden forms with a smile on his lips.

OoO

Shelley and Stan, at first glance, seem the epitome of siblings who care little about each other. However, if one peered closer, put the evidence together, they were always there for each other. Every reluctant study session, every fight about Wendy or Steve or Red or Elan was really for the other's benefit. They were always there for each other, and Stan was not about to make this an exception.

"I'm outside the door." he murmured softly into the receiver to his softly crying older sister. After she shakily informed him that the door was unlocked, he pushed it open and stepped into the silent dorm room. It was tidy but lived in, and Stan absently wondered where the eccentric roommate was as he picked his way through the apartment to his older sister's room, frowning when he found it empty.

A moment later, though, he heard a low sob from the bathroom and wondered over to investigate. He rapped lightly on the door but pushed it open before he got a reply. His gaze immediately fell to the sink, where three pregnancy tests were sat. The first one displayed a plus sign. The second, a telltale Yes. But before Stan could get his hopes up that his inferior male intelligence had the terms wrong, he read the last one, South Park Brand. It stated, "Bitch, you knocked up."

"Oh, Shelley..." Stan cooed, turning around to face his sister, who was curled up against the wall. She sobbed brokenly as her little brother sat down next to her, soothingly rubbing her back. "Wha-what am I gonna do?" she gasped shakily. Stan bit his lower lip. What _would_ she do? A pregnant freshman in college? It's not gonna work. Instead of this, though, Stan voiced another issue.

"Shell, I know you've been pro-life for a long time, but I'm gonna ask anyway. Are you... Gonna, y'know, keep it?" Shelley rubbed her eyes, mascara rings reminding Stan of when she cried during a speech when she was fourteen and he called her raccoon girl to cheer her up. "I'm not getting an abortion." she murmured firmly. "And I don't want to give it u-up, but it's not a spl-split second decision..."

"Do you know who's it is?"

"It's... It's Elan's."

Stan hung his head, wrapping an arm around his sister's shoulders a little awkwardly. "He's serving in Japan right now, isn't he?"

"Yeah."

"You gonna sue him for child support, ask him to help raise it, what?"

"I don't know! I can't raise a baby all by myself!" she sounded a little bit hysterical. Stan clutched her a little bit tighter to himself, and reassured her firmly, "You've got me."

OoO

Kenny sighed, lacing his fingers together behind his neck and kicking at a rock. He really couldn't believe that Ike, sweet, innocent little Ike, had been... Attacked. Why? What would the motivation be? He may be in seventh grade, but he doesn't carry cash, doesn't have a cell phone, nothing valuable... He's too quiet to piss somebody off... For fuck's sake, he's eleven! Why would he attract the attention of _Salamander_?

_He's cute_, something in the back of his head whispered. _Just like you were._

Kenny shook his head, pressing his palm against his stomach absently._ It can't happen anymore,_ he reminded himself sternly. Kenny knew he was tougher now, bigger, stronger... Trained. Trained well enough to protect himself. Well enough to protect Ike.

Speaking of training, Kenny was close to being late. So he took off in a steady sprint towards a little shop in town with a large basement and several deadly fighters...

OoO

Stan glanced sleepily down at his sister, who was laid across the couch with her head in his lap. Shifting slowly, he reached into his pocket for his phone, stroking her hair as he held down the one button until it started to ring.

He waited patiently as it rang once, twice, three times, and was immediately snatched up, a sure sign that Kyle had waited to answer for risk of coming off as creepy (Stan had to admit, it scared the shit out of him when Kyle answered before it actually made a ringing noise).

"Stan! What was up earlier? Is everything alright?"

Stan sighed at his friend's frantic tone. "How's Ike?"

"Passed out. What's wrong with Shelley?"

Stan sighed even louder this time, petting said teenager's hair absently. "She got knocked up by a soldier serving on another continent."

Kyle paused, his breathing faint over the phone lines. "Only in fucking South Park. I'll be over there in an hour."

"Ky, you don't need to-" _click_

OoO

"E-eric?" Butters asked nervously. Eric turned his watchful eyes on the nervous blond. "Yes, Buttehs?"

Butters mumbled something. Eric sighed in frustration. He knows how much the older teen hates the mumbling. "What was that, Buttehs?"

"I said I-"

"What?"

"I said I-!"

"Huh?"

"I_ said_ I can't-"

"Could you repeat that?"

Butters was bright red with frustration at this point. "I CAN'T TAKE SHNOOKIE, ERIC!"

The boy's eyes slid from Butters' face to the purring cat in his lap.

"Oh FUCK NO I AM NOT TAKING THE CAT, BUTTEHS, I REFUSE TO-!"

OoO

Eric Cartman is now the proud owner of Shnookie C. Cartman.

_Sorry I made it all so saddening. All necessary, I swear._

_**REVIEW, GOOD PEOPLE!**_

_**REVIEW, GOOD PEOPLE!**_


	3. Chapter 3: Viva la Secreta

_Welcome to the Viva la Vida, Viva la Secreta experience. Please keep hands and feet in the ride at all times. All passengers who have had past issues with homosexuality, cross-dressing, implied masochism, child abuse, and underage, or has contracted Hater's Syndrome, should make their way to the exit located at the top left of the screen. The staff of Viva la Vida disclaims all rights to South Park, xkcd, Janet Evanovich's work, Harry Potter, The Hop, 'Esshiao Amonia', Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley, Lord of the Rings, Pokemon, Romeo and Juliet, the Nile River, the Bronx Masquerade, and any other obscure references we haven't caught. However, the staff claims all rights to the unnamed poem. Please enjoy the ride._

**¡Viva la Vida!: ¡Viva la Secreta!**

_My name is Craig Tucker._

OoO

Stan looked so sad, staring up at the sky all alone in the same place he'd stood every school day for the last seven years of his life. He clung loosely to the old, faded, rusty bus-stop sign and, as Kyle crept closer, he could hear him singing softly.

"...but you needed proof. You saw her bathing on the roof and her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you... But she tied you to the the kitchen chair, she broke your throne and she cut your hair, and from your lips she drew a hallelujah..."

Stan's voice was no better than average, but it held more emotion than most people's. That's why, late on the nights they don't talk about, when Kyle is trembling and afraid and too scared to go turn on the lights, he asks Stan to sing for him. The redhead took his place beside Stan, joining in quietly on the next verse.

"Baby, I've been here before... I've seen this room and I've walked these floors... I used to live alone before I knew you. I've seen your flag on the marble arch, but, love is not a victory march; it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah."

Kyle jumped a little when Kenny wrapped an arm around his shoulders, smiling when he saw that he'd decided to wear his old orange parka today. His voice was muffled when he joined in the music as well.

"Well, there was a time when you let me know what's really going on below, but now you never show that to me do you? But remember when I moved in you, and the holy dove was moving too, and every breath we drew was hallelujah."

Somehow, it didn't seem terribly clichéd and impossibly theatrical when Eric joined in as well.

"Well, maybe there's a god above, but all I've ever learned from love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you. It's not a cry that you hear at night. It's not somebody who's seen the light. It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah..."

The four trailed into silence.

"We're so gay." Stan murmured, remembering the study they did in fifth grade on the song.

The other three nodded in agreement, staring off into space. "Hey," Kyle suggested, "As long as we're being gay, let's have a sleepover tonight."

Eric scoffed and Kenny brightened. "Yeah!" he exclaimed. Stan sighed. "So you're inviting them to intrude on our sleepover? Awesome."

"My parents'll be out." Kyle offered with a tiny smile. Eric woo-hooed quietly, exclaiming, "I'll bring the booze!"

Kyle mentally stressed over whether or not he was serious.

OoO

_My best friend in the whole world, Tweek Tweak, goes to therapy once a week. His diagnosis changes routinely. I think they're calling him a paranoid schizophrenic at the moment. He has night terrors. _

OoO

_Proof Craig is in Love with Tweek:_

_I caught him chasing Underpants Gnomes with Tweek the other day._

_He plays Cat's Cradle with Tweek._

_They sleep in a bed together on a routine basis._

_I've never seem Craig hug anybody else._

_The way he watches him when he talks._

_He's Craig._

Butters stared at his list with a bit of satisfaction. He glanced up at the clock again and groaned unhappily, noting he still had fifteen minutes until the end of Algebra and the start of the weekend. He picked absently at the page's corner, staring at the pair in question nearby. Eric reached over and snatched the paper away, not that Butters would have tried to stop him... Like he does when Eric wants to read his poetry.

Eric scanned over the list and stole Pip, on his other side,'s pencil, starting to scribble a message to his wayward little blond friend.

After a moment, the page was slid back Butters. In Eric's famously tidy, swirly penmanship was the message, _"They're in love. Get over it."_

Butters bit his lip, eyes whipping from the bored brunette to the page. Carefully, a little bit weary of Eric yelling at him for continuing to dwell on it, he titled a section below the first one, _Proof Tweek is in Love with Craig._

Butters pondered it for a moment, mind heading back to the time Craig had been sent out of state for three days to attend his mother's friend's funeral. Tweek had been a crying mess, stuck to Butters' sleeve all weekend with his buttons done up wrong and his hair somehow matted with coffee. With a small, fond smile, he wrote,_ Tweek doesn't function without Craig._

Eric took it away again and read it over before handing it back and nodding.

Butters hesitantly wrote down, _Do you figure you'll ever fall in love like them?_ sliding it over to the larger brunette nervously. Eric looked it over, scoffed, and nodded towards a certain redhead in the front of the classroom, who was passing notes with Stan. Butters' heart sank.

"Eric," he whispered, "You do realize Kyle and Stan are-" he was interrupted by Stan's disbelieving screech.

"Oh, _fuck_ no, Kyle, we are not getting jobs working for-!" it was cut off by the Teacher's furious shriek, "STANLEY MARSH!"

OoO

_I can describe Tweek's dreams precisely. It starts with cold, painful knowledge. There's someone in the room. Tweek can't move._

OoO

Kyle blinked as The Notebook (an actual notebook, not the ridiculously gay novel) was shoved onto his worksheet. He smiled, seeing that almost the entire thing was filled up. The Notebook was a tradition started in the Sixth grade; each year, they bought a spiral bound notebook and used it to pass notes. Kyle still keeps the sixth, seventh, and eighth grade notebooks under his bed, though he told Stan he sank them in Stark's pond. _You're amazing,_ the message read.

Kyle blushed, putting the date (February first) at the top and responding, _I try._

_No, really, Kyle. I couldn't have done that for Shelley._

Stan was looking at him earnestly and it made a self-conscious smile form on the redhead's lips. _All I did was cook for her and bring a couple books on pregnancy..._

_Dude, you had a girl talk with her about it. She doesn't have any girlfriends._ Kyle pouted.

_Well, now I feel gay. Anyway, I think we should get part-time jobs._

Stan sent him an expression somewhere between horror and confusion. After a harsh look from his best friend, though, understanding softened his features.

Kyle snatched The Notebook away from him, and wrote, _If we can get a job working two hours a day (studies are vital!) for min. wage, we can raise somewhere around five thousand bucks by the time the baby's due._

Stan snorted, but he looked a little hopeful. _Who in their right minds would hire two inexperienced teenagers for two hours a day?_

Before Kyle even started to reply, Stan's eyes widened, and, right in the middle of algebra, he screeched, "Oh, _fuck_ no, Kyle, we are not getting jobs working for-!"

OoO

_He's always in a calm, peaceful sleeping position on his side, making the figure hard to see out of the corner of his eyes. It didn't seem quite solid, always changing shape, not quite stationary._

OoO

After school, Eric and Butters were walking towards their lockers, and Butters asked nervously, with his trademark schoolgirl blush in place as he rubbed his knuckles together, "Shucks, Eric, Uh, you wanna come hang with Craig a-an' Tweek an' me tonight?"

Eric offered him an unimpressed expression. "Sorry, Buttehs, but I've got plans tonight with Kenneh and Stan and Kahl..."

The blond sagged, shoulders slumped, and he mumbled as he turned away, "Okay, E-Eric. 'member, you gotta have one of your poems memorized by class Monday... I-I'll help you if you want..."

Eric stared after him, feeling a little guilty. Why was he so damn sad?

OoO

_It sits on the bed, a large, terrifying being that appeared to be made of darkness. It radiates sickly, stifling heat that made his head spin and his stomach lurch._

OoO

Ike shivered in both cold and fear as he stepped outside South Park Middle, the knowledge that he was attacked exactly twenty-three hours and fifty-two minutes ago weighing heavily on his mind. He felt the phone in his pocket-an early birthday present from his father last night-and wondered if should call somebody to walk him home. He only had eight numbers, however (Mom, Dad, home, Kyle, Stan, Kenny, Eric, Georgie) and he valued all five available individuals' respect too much to call and ask for an escort like a little baby...

Ike jumped with a yelp when someone suddenly spoke in his ear, "'Sup, Ikey?", whipping around to stare wide-eyed up at the captivating blond who'd saved him yesterday. Ike blushed, eyes falling to his feet when the blond smiled, embarrassment and shame making his cheeks red.

"H-hi." Ike stuttered back, stuffing his hands in his pockets nervously. Kenny ruffled his hair, questioning kindly, "How was school, lil' guy?"

Ike remembered the school bullies' 'experiment' from earlier that day and blushed harder. "Pretty unextraordinary. I found out that I fit in the school's lockers today." he answered maybe a little too honestly.

Kenny's smile faltered. "Seriously?"

Ike nodded nervously, mentally berating himself for letting tough, untouchable Kenny McCormick know how weak he was and that he couldn't defend himself from bullying and-

Kenny literally growled and Ike flinched, squeaking instinctively, "I'm sorry!"

Kenny cast him an odd, still pissed-off look and murmured, "Silly Ikey. I'm not mad at yah... But do yah wanna give me some names an' preferred methods of torture?"

Ike shook his head frantically, eyes wide with fear as he grabbed Kenny's wrist. "N-no! No. It's... It's fine, Kenny... I'm used to it.

Kenny wrapped an arm around the skinny Canadian's shoulders, mumbling something about bullying. Ike melted a little bit, allowing himself to stand maybe a little to close to amazing, fascinating Kenny as the older blond started too lead him away from the school grounds. "Why are you... Why are you here?" Ike asked timidly, glancing up at the teen. He smiled in a way that showcased his straight, white teeth and made Ike blush lightly.

"Just thought I'd walk yah home, y'know. I'm on my way to your bro's house anyway." he looked troubled, but the little raven smiled at him and Kenny smiled back and Ike felt special.

OoO

_It croons in a hauntingly beautiful language in an unearthly voice, a voice that spoke of giving and receiving pain. _

OoO

Stan was not a happy camper. Not at all. He was grouching and pouting and trudging along after his best friend, who, quite frankly, was quite torn between choosing to label the behavior annoying or adorable. It wasn't every day you saw the football captain dragging his feet and whining and pouting at his itty bitty, nerdy super-best friend.

He didn't complain out loud, however. The redhead had made it quite clear that whether Stan tagged along or not, he was going and if Stan tried to drag him home, he would not hesitate to scream rape... Like last time. Stan flinched at the thought.

The two hesitated on the street. The sign to the right of the cracked cobblestone sidewalk leading to the deceptively merry home read_ SOUTH PARK ANIMAL SHELTER_. Under that was a perpetually-present sign reading **Help Wanted**.

"Kyle, please don't-"

"Shush, Stan. I can put up with a couple months of sexual harassment and you can too."

OoO

_It scorches Tweek's skin where it touches his shoulder, long fingers tapering into claws that scratch him just barely, as though unintentionally. _

OoO

Halfway home, Kenny got a text. He pulled out his beaten, well-loved phone and read it over quickly. The buttons made a little beeping noise as he replied, and for some reason, it made Ike smile. Kenny chuckled a little bit and grabbed the little Canadian's wrist, tugging him off course for home and to the other side of the street. Ike hurried to keep up as they dashed across the street and took a left, still running.

"Where... Where are we going?" Ike panted as Kenny slowed to a stop outside of a little ice cream shop. Kenny laughed a little, stroking his thumb over the raven's inner wrist and making him shiver. "Kyle won't be home for a bit, so I'm kidnapping yah. This place has the best soft serve ice cream in the world."

Ike glanced at the sign again, just barely managing to read it (**The Hop**-_Welcome Back to the 60's)_ before Kenny tugged him inside.

The atmosphere was warm and open, and the tacky decor made Ike think of some of the movies he'd seen that took place in the sixties and seventies. A young man with several facial piercings and a slightly quirky grin greeted the pair with a friendly smile and an exuberant, "'Lo, Kenny! 'Lo, Kenny's friend!"

"Hey, Scooter." Kenny returned warmly as he approached the counter, leaning over to offer a hug. Ike watched uncomfortably, eyes on his feet and hands clasped together behind his back, causing both older males to laugh at him for being so shy. Kenny tugged him up to the counter and Ike stared up at the man, a little bit frightened. He hadn't realized how _tall_ he was until...

"Six foot nine, love." Scooter told him. Ike blinked, wondering how the man knew he was wondering how tall he was. "Most people want to know."

Giving him a suspicious glance, Ike leaned over and whispered into Kenny's shoulder, "I think he reads minds."

Scooter chuckled into his hand. "Jeez, he's cute, Ken. Yours?"

While Ike wondered what he meant by his (surely Scooter didn't think Kenny was old enough to have a child?), said blond shook his head. "Nah, man. He's cute, but a little on the young side... And Kyle's little bro."

"Oh!" Scooter exclaimed, looking a little embarrassed. "How silly of me. Jesus himself could ask for permission to court him and be brutally denied."

Ike tilted his head to the side, still not sure if he was following the conversation correctly, as Scooter turned his attention to the little genius. "He talks about you all the time. Congrats on your ACT score."

Ike blushed and mumbled a thank you. Kenny slung an arm around his shoulders suddenly, making his knees buckle, and asked in a smug tone, "So, I'll have a chocolate cone... And my dear Ikey here will have..?" he trailed off, inclining his head in a gesture for Ike to order.

"Oh!" Ike exclaimed, patting his pockets demonstratively. "I don't have any cash..."

Kenny scoffed, looking down his nose at the child. "Please, Ike. I have papers I can pull out in the case of your parents' death that demand custody of yah be handed over to _me_. Yeah, both Kyle and Stan's papers override mine, but I still have the documents. I can take care of yah... Plus," he added with a smirk in Scooter's direction, "Scooter here's got the tab... Forever."

Scooter sighed sadly. "I was stupid to take that bet... What can I get you, love?"

Ike shifted his eyes from Kenny to the ridiculously tall man behind the counter. "Um... Vanilla cone, please?"

Scooter grinned, ruffling the Canadian's locks and making him squirm. "Coming right up, love."

The man bustled of and Ike leaned nervously closer to Kenny, asking in a whisper, "Why does he keep calling me love?" Kenny chuckled a little, making Ike blush, and responded, "I dunno. Maybe cause you're so..." he trailed off, taking in Ike's slightly ruffled, innocently childish appearance, "Cute."

Ike wrinkled his nose slightly. "Cute?" Kenny smoothed his palm over the child's ebony locks as he confirmed, more confidently this time, "Cute."

A moment later, Scooter reappeared with two ice cream cones piled high with creamy-looking chocolate and vanilla soft serve in his insanely huge hands. Kenny took his immediately with a quiet, content _Thanks_, but Ike hesitated. Those were some motherfucking huge hands.

Scooter laughed, leaning over to grab one of his wrists-completely encompassing almost half his forearm-and pressing the treat into his hand. Ike stared a little blankly from the hand on his wrist to the man standing in front of him, and, struck by affection for the strange man, offered a sweet smile. Scooter, much to Kenny's everlasting amusement, actually blushed, retracting his hand with a small, bordering-on-shy grin.

OoO

_Fear-true, unadulterated fear._

OoO

Kyle rapped his knuckles against the counter quietly to get the secretary's attention. The woman looked up with a polite smile that switched into a grimace not directed at them, but for them. "Back for another try, Kyle? Stan?"

Kyle nodded, latching on to Stan's sleeve as he turned to leave and tugging him back. "Yeah, we really need some cash, Cherry. We aren't volunteering this time..."

Cheery sent them a sympathetic smile. "Pick your poison, boys... Samantha or Samwise? You're more likely to get the job if you talk to them instead of Mr. Roberts."

The boys exchanged a look that said clearly, _"Your soul or mine?"_ after a moment, Kyle muttered, "Get Samwise out here."

Cherry patted his hand. "So brave." she murmured with a wink, getting up to fetch said creep.

When Stan and Kyle were told that, in order to pass Lead and Services in Seventh Grade, they'd need three hours of independent volunteer work, they'd be less than pleased but willing to find work... However, where in South Park can you volunteer without risking your life? This line of thinking lead them to the South Park Animal Shelter (slash petshop slash animal control). After all, when was the last time a kitten did any damage worse than Cat Scratch Fever?

They soon found, however, that it wasn't the pets that needed fearing (far from it-they were very sweet and cuddly), but the shop owner's children.

Samantha and Samwise are textbook mischievous twins. Always finishing each others sentences, always getting in trouble, and never needing many other friends. They were close-some would argue to close to be normal-and they both had a 'healthy' infatuation with one of the boys.

Kyle screeched as he was suddenly spun around and hugged to his 'poison's' chest invasively. Samwise grinned down at him, flattening his palms over the redhead's ass and tugging him obscenely close. The nerd squeaked and pushed on his chest, breaking away and stumbling back into Stan, who caught him by the elbows. Kyle blanched, staring up at the boy he hadn't seen up close in two years.

"You grew." he mumbled. He looked like a man, not the awkward teen he was way back when. He was big and well-defined and, for lack of a better word, manly. He even had a five o'clock shadow. Kyle subconsciously felt across his bare jaw and felt inadequate.

Samwise pecked him on the forehead quickly, immediately turning and gesturing the pair into the back room with a flippant, "You didn't."

Stan shot the fuming redhead an I-told-you-so look and was promptly flipped off.  
OoO

_Painfully sharp, breath-taking fear._

OoO

Now that they were sitting at the bar, watching Scooter wipe down the counters or tend to the customers that came and went, Ike wasn't sure how to start on his ice cream. It was huge-much more than he could eat-and it looked so _good_. But where to start?

With a glance at Kenny, who was watching him in amusement as he sucked part of the top off into his mouth, Ike delicately stuck out his little pink tongue and lapped at the tip. His eyes widened. "This is _awesome_!"

Soon he was working it over, licking around in a spiral from the bottom to the tip, preventing it from melting over his hand expertly. Kenny chuckled as ice cream appeared on the child's cheeks, nose, and forehead as the amount of ice cream he possessed dwindled. "Calm down." he implored his companion, taking the cone and attacking his face with a napkin. Ike stayed very still as Kenny wiped the sticky, sweet white substance from his face, a light blush tinting his features.

Before he handed the cone back to the Canadian, Kenny licked up the side of it, making Ike roll his eyes a little with a half-assed whine of, "Ken!"

In apology, Kenny offered Ike a bit of his cone and Ike quietly accepted with a grin on his face.

After all, when was the last time Ike was seen with an actual friend?

OoO

_Tweek wants to shout and shake and cry, but he remains paralyzed as the creature pushes him onto his back. _

OoO

"Alright, Samwise, here we go." Stan, quietly watching the firm redhead, adored the way Kyle got when he was negotiating. The glasses he kept in his pocket for when he wanted to look professional were cute on him. "You want us here so you can molest me and your sister can molest Stan."

Samwise nodded agreeably. "Plus, while we're complimenting you, you're good workers."

Kyle nodded back, taking on an extremely firm expression. "We want minimum wage, working two hours on the week days, a full shift on the weekends. We want one hour a week to count as volunteer work towards what we need for credits, as well as being paid for it. Keep sexual harassment to a minimum."

Sam looked equal serious. "One, we're closed on Saturdays. Two, in the case of an emergency, we'll call you in unless it's school hours. Three, I want you to wear skimpy shorts."

Stan snorted instinctively. Kyle shot him a glare. "No shorts."

Sam tilted his head to the side, flashing his bright white teeth, "Three days a week."

"Sundays only."

"Eight hour shift on Sundays."

"Deal."

The two shook hands.

OoO

_Suddenly, it's on top of him, and his lungs feel as though he's breathing fire. _

OoO

"Quit pouting." Kyle griped at Sulking Eric, "We're fourteen. You should have known better than to bring alcohol." Almost two hours before, Stan, Eric, and Kenny had watched the redhead pour an entire six-pack's worth of booze down the kitchen sink-booze Eric had brought. He was still whining about it.

"Whatever." Kenny sighed, glancing around the room curiously. "Where'd Ikey go?"

The other boy's looked at him silently, a little confused. Kyle looked a little indignant. "Dude, Ike always hides in his room when we hang out."

That threw Kenny for a loop. "Why?" Kyle shook his head at him, wrinkling his nose and mouthing _What? _to himself. "He doesn't want to get in the way... Why do you care?"

The blond shrugged, threading his fingers through his hair. "Ike's cool. I say we let him hang."

Without waiting for an answer, the hoodrat went off to fetch the little Canadian. "Hey, Kyle?" Stan questioned after a moment. The redhead glanced at him confusedly. "Yeah?"

"Do you feel the need to kick his ass, too?"

"... Yes, actually."

"Po' boy be all up in yo grill, Magicarp. Use shplash attack!"

And that is why Kenny was sprayed with the detachable kitchen faucet when he re-entered the room holding a beaming Ike by the elbow.

OoO

_The crooning sounds almost like a lullaby, but it's anything but soothing as the creature settles over him, not seeming to have any true shape. _

OoO

"So, whadduyuh wanna do?" Kyle asked, beaming at the group that consisted of a half naked Stan, a pouting Kenny wearing Stan's shirt, and an Eric and an Ike who were playing the neo-nazi's favorite game; _If You Flinch, I Get To Hit You_.

"_Ouch_, stop it. _Ouch_, stop it. _Ouch_, stop it. _Ouch_, stop it!" Ike muttered each time his shoulder was punched, the blow pushing him sideways. Finally, as the other two boy's watched on in amusement, Kenny dragged Ike across his lap to his other side and settled him far out of the brunette's reach. The Canadian grinned gratefully at him and Kyle rolled his eyes with a suspicious frown as he repeated his question.

The boys thought for a second. Finally, with an evil smirk, Eric rumbled, "Yo, Jew. Truth or dare?" Kyle stared at him wearily and replied after a moment, hesitancy clear in his tone, "Tr-truth?"

Eric got up on his knees, leaning intimidatingly over the redhead and making him shudder, and demanded, "Where is your goddamn Jew Gold?"

Kyle blinked, remembering the sack under the loose floor board under his bed, and replied smoothly, "Some place you'd never think to look." Eric was fuming as he turned to Stan (why Stan? When was he put in charge?) and exclaimed, "That doesn't count!"

"Technically," Stan mumbled with a small grin, "He did answer truthfully."

Eric sat back, grumbling, and Kyle looked to Kenny and questioned, "Truth or dare?"

"Dare, babe."

Kyle was never good and making up dares. "Uhm... Uh..." he scratched the back of his head, deep in thought, and suddenly brightened. "I dare you to swear off alcohol for the next month."

Kenny frowned at him, swearing, and muttered spitefully, "Damn no-good goody-two-shoes," making Ike giggle and urge him on with a small hand gesture. "I promise-"

"You _swear_."

"Fine, I SWEAR I won't touch alcohol at all for the next month." Kyle cheered and Kenny pouted, asking Stan absently, "Truth or dare, man?"

The jock squirmed uncomfortably. "Truth."

Kenny turned very serious. "The question we've all wanted to know for years... Have you and Kyle ever made out?"

The two blinked at the blond, then at each other. Kyle tilted his head to the side in thought, and Stan looked up at the ceiling, apparently concentrating.

"I..." Kyle trailed off, blushing a little. "I vaguely recall trying to at Kenny's insistence when we were, like, six..."

Stan sighed in relief. "Thank god, you remember that, too. I thought I was going off the deep end."

Kenny pouted, a little off-put that _he_ didn't remember that particular incident. Stan, ignoring Eric's colorful fag jibes, turned to Ike, who was blushing a little and looking between Stan and Kyle, and asked kindly, "Ike, truth or dare?"

Ike squeaked a little at being put on the spot, making Kenny grin at him reassuringly. "Tr-truth."

"Man," Eric whined, "You guys are all a bunch of pussehs."

"So, Ike." the Canadian really didn't like the smug smirk on the teen who was practically his brother's face. "How's puberty treatin' ya?"

Kyle groaned, smiling a little at his baby brother, and Ike yelped and pressed his face into Kenny's shoulder, absolutely mortified.

"Yeah," Eric decided to add his two cents, "You gotten your period yet?"

Ike remained frozen and silent. Kyle chuckled at him, raising his palm in a pick-me gesture. "I can tell you that one. He's always insisted on coming to me with this shit, ever since he was little."

Intent on putting the raven trying to hide in side in a coma of humiliation, Kenny prodded, "Do tell."

Kyle eyed his little brother and poked him in the side teasingly. "He's developing way faster than normal. He came to me in the middle of the night a few weeks ago crying-" Ike's head shot up and he tackled his older brother, exclaiming, "Kyle! _Don't_!"

He tried hard, but Kyle had muscle, height, and weight on him, and was soon struggling under the weight of the redheaded nerd sitting on his back as he went on, "And he'd had his first wet dream, and he thought there was something wrong with him and he was just_ freaking_ out..."

Ike's face was bright red as he went limp, hiding his face in his hands against the roaring laughter of his 'brothers' and wondering vaguely why he was always humiliating himself in front of Kenny...

Wait. Ike's head shot up, he looked Kenny in the eye and announced, "Kyle writes slash fanfiction."

The room went silent. Ike _so_ wished he could see his brother's face-it was probably redder than his hair!-and continued smugly, "For Harry Potter."

"Wait, wait, wait." though the other three in the room were still frozen, Kenny was grinning brightly. "Dude, what pairing do you write for?"

"Twincest, Fred and George." Ike supplied again.

"**Ike**." Kyle squeaked finally. Kenny started to chuckle, gasping out between giggles, "Jesus Christ, my sister is a huge fan!" and collapsing into silly laughter.

Eric blinked, his shocked expression turning into one of sadistic glee. "I knew you were a fag!"

Stan looked a little hurt. "You're gay and you didn't tell me?" he demanded, blinking rapidly as he stood, anger in his eyes. Ike winced, knowing this was his fault, and rushed out, "No, no, Stan, he's not gay." Ike turned his head painfully to look up at his mortified older brother and tried to smile. "He likes the forbidden aspect. It's the same reason he read Twilight."

Needless to say, after that little admission, Kyle decided ten-thirty was late enough for bedtime and sent the pouting child on his way. After several long moment of staring at each other in silence, Stan smiled and walked off, calling over his shoulder, "Let's watch The Goblet of Fire."

OoO

_Tweek's skin feels as though it's blistering and his eyes shut against the intense heat. The touches seem like they were made of nothing more than pressure, with nothing but searing heat actually making contact with his skin. _

OoO

Kyle hesitated. Stan and Kyle spent almost every weekend together, and always slept in the same bed, but it wasn't gay because they'd done it since they were little. But Kenny and Eric were in the room, so was it okay or not?

His big jade eyes slid from Stan, curled up under the sheets and his quilt in Kyle's bed, and Kenny and Eric, the former watching him from his nest of blankets in the corner and the latter passed out on the loveseat, feet dangling off the edge. Kenny smirked a little at him and Kyle blushed, turning to leave and crash on the couch or maybe in Ike's bed, only to be stopped by Stan clearing his throat pointedly. Kyle turned his head and almost laughed at the sight that greeted him.

Stan was holding the blankets up for him, stroking the sheets beside him with his free arm, come-hither smile and bedroom eyes in place. Kyle caught himself blushing as he slid into bed, lying on his side to watch his best friend.

Stan's skin was ethereal in the night time light, almost golden looking. His eyes, normally an almost unrealistic shade of blue that reminded Kyle of an ice cream he'd eaten once called Moonshine, were silvery and almost hauntingly beautiful, and his hair shone white in places in the moonlight. When he smiled, Kyle felt his eyes being drawn to his lips, shiny and pink and soft-looking. The redhead hesitated, and Stan lifted the covers off his body again in a silent offer.

With one last nervous glance to where he could see Kenny watching them, he gratefully dove into his best friend's arms, cuddling up close to his side and sighing contentedly when the jock's strong, familiar arms wound around his waist like they always did and tugged him closer. Stan, he thought as he drifted off into what would likely be the best sleep he'd had in months, was the best pillow ever.

OoO

_Finally, it bites his neck and coos as it laps at the blood, _"Esshiao amonia..."

OoO

_Why do you have to be so beautiful?,_ Stan wondered as he watched the slumbering Jew on his chest. He couldn't see his face from this angle, but his head of silky scarlet ringlets were in sight, tickling his chin lightly. The boy's shoulder, bare beneath his large, calloused hand, was Lord of the Rings elven princess white and smooth and flawless, interrupted only by a splatter of freckles Stan sometimes played connect the dots with when they were little. The raven smiled at the memory of straddling six-year-old Kyle's lower back and tracing a big heart across one of his shoulder blades with blue Crayola markers and whispering, "Are we best friends?"

Kyle had glanced back at him with a missing-front-teeth grin and assured him, "Super-bes' friends, Stan."

"Super-best friends." Stan murmured contemplatively. What are Super-Best Friends, exactly?

"Super-best friends indeed." Stan jumped, having not noticed Kenny's silent approach until he spoke. The blond sat slowly on the bed, reaching out to stroke the teen's curls. The redhead emitted an adorable sound somewhere between a yawn and a sigh that almost reminded them of a sleepy Pikachu and snuggled closer to Stan, resting an open palm over his heart with a smile on his face.

The raven's light blue eyes trailed from the slumbering teen to the one sitting on the bed, watching the pair silently. His smile was sad when he looked at the jock. "I envy you." he whispered. Instinctively, Stan tugged Kyle closer and murmured back, "Why?"

"Bebe, Rebecca, Christophe, Gregory, Butters, Eric... Me, none of us got a chance in hell with 'em. Nobody does, 'cause you two have already been in love for nine years." Kenny rubbed restlessly at his eyes. "I'm giving up on 'im. Eric will, too, eventually..."

Stan was grasping at straws. "O-of course you've got a chance at him, Ken, you fascinate him... And, we aren't in love, okay? We aren't even gay..."

Kenny shook his head absently, leaning down to press his lips against the sleeping boy's cheek chastely. "Like Kyle once shouted at you in world history... De Nile ain't just a river in Egypt."

Stan remembered that day in seventh grade, when Kyle had been trying to convince him that Wendy wasn't right for him. Stan and whispered that they were in love, and Kyle had jabbed at the map of Egypt laid out on the table and screeched, "De Nile isn't just a river in Egypt, Stanley!" and stomped out.

The memory slipped away as tears gathered in Kenny's eyes and he stood, bending over to kiss Kyle again, this time on the lips. Stan didn't have the heart to stop him as he rubbed the pad of his thumb over the redhead's cheek and parted slowly from the unconscious teen as a couple tears dropped from Kenny's lashes to the beauty's cheeks.

Then the blond was gone, and Stan was left staring at the sparkling tears on Kyle's face.

OoO

_That's when Tweek wakes up screaming, like he did a moment ago. That's when I hold him close to me assure him that it'll all be okay. Unless I'm not there. Unless he's alone, in his own home. Then, it's when his father stumbles in, drunk and bitter and sleepy, and screams and hits and kicks and hurts._

OoO

Ike looked up slowly when footsteps padded over to where he sat on the kitchen counter, staring contemplatively at the clean, empty white mug in his hands. He started at the sight that greeted him, a ruffled, crying Kenny wearing nothing more than a pair of boxers and a single sock. He was wiping helplessly at his eyes and didn't seem to notice Ike, walking right past him to the sink as Ike stared in silent shock.

Kenny? Brave, tough, beautiful, courageous, untouchable, perfect Kenny was crying? The Canadian blinked, but the image didn't fade as Kenny splashed his face with water from the kitchen sink and sighed heavily, sniffling slightly.

"K-Kenny?" Ike asked quietly, flinching when the blond jumped and cursed, wiping his face furiously and trying to smile. "Hey, Ike." he whispered back, smile becoming a bit more real as he wondered closer, peering into Ike's dry mug and offering the Canadian a questioning look.

"We're out of tea." Ike responded, twisting at the waist to open the cabinet behind him, removing another mug and handing it to Kenny before taking a long sip of air. To Ike's joy, the blond chuckled a little, taking a sip of air and complimenting, "Interesting taste."

They sat in silence for a moment, occasionally sipping at their empty mugs and not paying much attention to each other. Finally, Kenny asked the quiet raven, "Why're you up, Ike? It's two in the morning."

Ike sighed a little, shuddering as he sat his mug in the sink beside him and responded off-handedly, "Nightmare."

"Oh?" Kenny prompted, shifting to stand directly in front of the child, who tilted his head up to look the teen in the eye. "What 'bout?"

Ike glanced down at his knees uncertainly, and Kenny, with a reassuring smile, grabbed his wrist and linked their pinkies together, "Swear I won't tell nobody."

Ike giggled a little, reining in the urge to correct his grammar and whispering without looking him in the eye, "I was littler than I am now. And... Somebody was twisting my arms behind my back, shaking me, and I was watching Kyle. Jeez, he looked really scared... And the person holding me was asking something, demanding something, and finally, Kyle nodded and stepped forward and I could hear him crying and some weird noises but I couldn't see anything."

Kenny listened quietly, watching his feet and humming almost imperceptibly. "Anything else?" he asked when Ike finished, and, after a moment's hesitation, he pulled the neck of his older brother's shirt down, exposing his dramatic collar bones and pointed a faint scars over his heart in the shape of a _K_. "This place... Hurt. Like I was being cut. I don't remember how I got this scar. I can remember a time it wasn't there, but I can't remember any wounds or healing."

Kenny tilted his head curiously, reaching out to trace the faint lines with the pad of his forefinger. Ike shivered, reaching up to catch his wrist instinctively. Kenny froze, just barely able to feel the raven's heart beat. Ike blinked at him with an unreadable expression and whispered, "It's not often I walk away from human contact without bruises."

Kenny looked almost like he'd cry again, and Ike grinned nervously, trying to lighten the mood. "Oh, Ike." he sighed, stepping between the child's knees and slowly wrapped his arms around the child's waist. Ike froze for a moment but slowly relaxed, loosely wrapping his skinny arms around the hoodrat's shoulders and pressing his eyes into the teen's neck. They stayed like that, embracing each other, for a lot longer than could be considered appropriate, neither wanting to pull away as they waited for the other to draw a line that never formed.

Eventually, though, Ike fell asleep and Kenny lovingly carried the child to bed for the umpteenth time that week... But this time, the hoodrat slipped under the blankets as well.

OoO

_But I'm here. I whisper this over and over into his ear and gradually, he stops shaking and wraps himself around me tightly. It'll be a long night. I don't mind._

**OoO  
**

_Hello, All! I hope you enjoyed the newest installment of Viva la Vida! I'm really loving the iKenny... It's so damned cute! Sorry about the lack of Creek... Anyway..._

_**REVIEW, GOOD PEOPLES! I WANT TEN REVIEWS BEFORE THE NEXT CHAPTER GOES UP, plz+thnkyou!**_


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